Forgiven
by socact
Summary: On their last day of college, tragedy strikes four friends. Will Bella find the strength to forgive? For the Love of Jasper Contest entry. Won 1st place in Judges contest. AH, Rated M for mature themes.
1. Ending

"**For the Love of Jasper" One-Shot Contest **

**Title: Forgiven  
**

**Pen name: socact  
**

**Existing work: N/A**

**Primary Players: Jasper, Bella, Rosalie, Emmett  
**

**Disclaimer: The Twilight characters do not belong to me.  
**

**To see other entries in the "For the Love of Jasper" contest, please visit the C2:  
www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/For_the_Love_of_Jasper_Contest/72564/**

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**A/N: **I love hearing from you, so please review. Thank you. :)

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**JPOV**

I've been standing on this gravel driveway for twenty-four seconds in a violent, torrential downpour. My clothes are soaked, and I can already feel the rain turning into pelts of ice. But I don't care. I don't even notice. I've waited ninety-eight days to do this; for ninety-eight days, I called her every day at noon, each time hearing the sound of her voicemail, or the gruff tone of her father's voice. I expected her to change her number, but she never did. And I think that tenuous connection between us—if you could even call it that—is my only reason for standing here now. This is our ending.

Or, if that cruel fucker of a God takes pity on me, our beginning.

#

_Ninety-eight Days Earlier_

"Is this really the last day of college? We're so _old_," Bella whined. She studied her diploma for the eighth time, and couldn't seem to decide if she liked it or hated it.

"You're 22, Bella. Hell, you're just getting started," Edward said, that familiar crooked smile on his face. We all noticed it, all associated it with that day he kissed Bella under the slide on the last day of kindergarten, but that smile was always meant just for her. We joked that he was the only five-year-old on the planet to fall in love, and to stay that way for almost twenty years. But it wasn't a joke. It was true, and even though I would never have called myself a sap, I had to admit it was the truest, most beautiful love I'd ever seen.

Alice and I had met in college, and ours wasn't the epic, fairy tale kind of love Edward and Bella had. But I loved the hell out of her, and she loved me back. I was lucky, and I knew it. I had everything: amazing friends, an incredible woman, a college degree. Life shouldn't be this good.

The waiter came by with the check, and with a final toast to the last four incredible years, we downed the last of our cheap champagne. I had only had a glass, but I wished we could sit here all night and drink the last of our college years away. I liked the college bubble. I didn't want to leave it.

"Time to hit the road, kiddies?" I asked, smirking in Alice's direction. She smirked back, her eyes hooded with a little bit of booze, and a little bit of lust.

"I don't want to go," Bella said. "I've glimpsed the real world, and it sucks."

"How do you know?" I asked, but I had the same fear. Tomorrow I would drive back to Forks, Alice would spend the summer at home in Chicago, and Edward and Bella would move to Seattle for grad school. Our lives were headed in completely separate directions for the first time ever.

"I'll miss you, Jasper," Bella said. "And Alice, what am I going to do when I want to complain about Edward's late-night cravings for fish sticks—"

"That happened once, Bella," Edward said, jabbing her teasingly in the side.

"It was still weird," she said.

"I can't wait for your weird cravings."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she teased, rolling her eyes.

Edward would marry her someday; everyone knew that, expected it. We had all taken bets on the wedding date, the honeymoon destination, even the number of kids. But Edward wouldn't propose until he could give her the world, and as a broke college grad, he didn't want to rush it. But when it happened—and it would—I'd be prepared with the Best Man Speech of the Century. Edward had already asked me eight times, and I'd already said yes eight times.

"We'll visit, Bella," Alice said, her eyes a deep, rich charcoal in the dim light of the patio. "And you guys have to come to Chicago."

"Oh we will," Bella said. "I already booked our tickets."

"You did?" Edward asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Shit, I ruined the surprise," she said. "Well, sorry, Jasper. I just thought it would be so cool if we visited you guys for your birthday in August."

I smiled, shook my head. Bella always ruined her own surprises, and it was kind of a running joke between the four of us. She could never keep things to herself for very long; Bella just liked to make people happy, and she always put everyone else first. She and Alice were the two most loving, most generous people I'd ever met.

"We'd love that!" Alice exclaimed, her voice shrieking with the excitement we knew all too well. Edward pretended to cringe, and she ignored him.

"We really would, Bella. Now we have something to look forward to," I said.

"So do we," she said, as she reached for Edward's hand. He smiled that crooked smile of his, and kissed her forehead.

And just like that, college was over.

#

Twenty minutes later, we piled into my piece-of-shit Honda, and headed through town to the interstate. We had splurged on a fancy dinner in LoDo, the trendy area of Denver. The ride back to our apartment in Boulder wouldn't take long, especially at this hour of the night. The highway was deserted, an infinite stretch of night through the suburbs. Alice was asleep in the front seat, and Bella was dozing on Edward's shoulder in the back. I heard the familiar beep of a text message, and felt around the console for my phone.

I couldn't find it, not at first, so I ignored it. But then it beeped again, and I didn't want my parents thinking I'd gone on a post-graduation rager. So I reached across the console, my right hand fumbling in the darkness.

I don't remember the impact.

#

The phone, somehow, was still in my hand when I woke up. I was gripping it so hard that the display had shattered, and the keys were sticky with blood. I don't know how long I thought about the damn phone—maybe seconds, maybe more.

But those few seconds of uncertainty, or respite, or whatever the fuck it was, ended with the sound of Bella's voice. It was faint, breathy, but undeniably hers. And the name falling from her lips was a desperate, relentless refrain, like the angel of death, calling someone home.

"Bella," I said, forcing the word from my throat. It didn't sound right, more like a sob than an actual word. I tried to turn around, but I could feel the bones in my back splintering with the slightest movement.

But fuck, I didn't care. I ignored the pain, the searing, white-hot burn of shattered bone coursing down my legs to the tips of my toes, as I reached over my seat to get to her. She looked up then, her eyes wide with pure, unadulterated fear. There was blood everywhere—on her face, her shirt, her hair. She was hardly recognizable, covered in so much fucking blood. At first I couldn't believe she was actually breathing—how the hell could a person survive such a bloodbath?

My mind, though, was still a few seconds behind the reality. I didn't even think about anyone else, since I hadn't heard any other voices. But it dawned on me then that it wasn't Bella's blood masking her beautiful face. It was Edward's. And he was crushed against the door, his eyes closed, his body completely still. Unlike Bella, he looked almost peaceful, and I wondered with unspeakable envy if death had come for him, and spared him so much horror.

As my mind continued to piece everything together with slow, torturous precision, I noticed the empty passenger seat. I swallowed the blood in my throat, but felt a tightening in my chest. Alice wasn't even in the fucking car.

All at once, my muscles were screaming at me to get out. Grab Bella, get out of the car, find Alice. And so I reached for her, my hands grasping her slender shoulders. But she pushed me away, her little hands on Edward's chest, her tears soaking his already bloodstained shirt.

"Bella," I said, unable to mask the desperation in my voice. "Bella, please."

She reached for him again, and swatted me away. I should have forced her—I could have, if I'd just fucking done it. But I couldn't separate Bella from Edward; I couldn't tear her away from the one person in this world who made her whole.

So I climbed out of the car, somehow, and reached through Edward's window to lift him out of the back seat. It took me a few minutes, and Bella never stopped screaming, but I finally did it. I lifted him onto the cool, wet grass, and dragged him far enough away from the wreckage so that I didn't have to look at it anymore.

Bella's screams had dissolved into choked, raspy sobs, but she wouldn't let go. She kept calling his name, in a language of love and regret and utter despair. I stood up, tried to stumble over to the side of the road, tried to salvage one more life in this perfect nightmare.

#

I woke up five days later in the ICU, alone and in pain. I noticed my parents' things on the makeshift cot, but didn't feel any comfort that they were here somewhere. I didn't know where my friends were, but my subconscious refused to believe that they were dead. How could they be? They were young, healthy, invincible. I had known Edward and Bella since birth, and friends didn't just die and leave you behind. Shit like that happened to other people. It never happened to you.

I don't know how long I might have suspended my mind in this kind of disbelief—maybe a few seconds, a few hours. But it ended as soon as my mother walked in the room, her face a ghastly, bloodless white, her eyes rimmed in red. I leaned over the bed, and threw up all over the linoleum floors.

"No!" I screamed, and it was a guttural, raw, inhuman sound I didn't recognize. "Don't you fucking look at me like that!"

"Jasper," she said, but she was already crying, and my own name sounded like a strangled moan in her throat.

"Fuck you!" I spat at my own mother, because she was the only one standing there, the only human with whom I could share my rage.

She took two steps back toward the door, buried her face in her hands. I had never seen my mother like this, had never wanted to see _anyone_ like this.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, backing up into my father's chest. He appeared at the door like a goddamn apparition, his face utterly devoid of all emotion. My father was a doctor, and he knew death; he understood it.

But he didn't understand this. He was lost—as lost as the both of us. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and stroked her hair. The simple gesture made me sick, made me realize all I had destroyed, and all I had lost.

"Jasper…" he started, but his voice died in his throat. My own fury, just like that, had dissolved into pure, unfathomable pain. I felt it in my chest, crushing me like dead weight. Right then, death would have been a welcome, glorious release.

"Don't," I whispered.

"Edward and Alice…I'm sorry, Jasper," he said, his voice wavering now. I had never seen vulnerability in my father; for twenty-two years, I had just believed it didn't exist for him.

In two seconds, he had proven me wrong.

"I have to see them—"

"They're gone, Jasper. Their funerals were yesterday."

I shook my head, tried to get up. A welcome kind of pain surged through me, but my dad put his hand on my shoulder before I could break my own back getting out of bed.

"All three?" I asked. "Together?"

He hesitated, cleared his throat. I didn't notice the difference at first, the way his voice lifted—ever so slightly—when he spoke.

"No," he said. "Bella survived."

My muscles tensed, as every fiber of my being responded to the sound of those two words. Bella survived. Survived that horrific crash…all that blood…Edward's blood…

"She's all right?" I croaked.

"Yes…just minor injuries."

"Can I see her?"

He swallowed hard, tightened his grip on the bedrail.

"She went home, Jasper," he said.

"Home where?"

"Home to Forks. Her dad took her home for Edward's funeral."

I sighed, felt my world—or whatever was left of it—fall out from under me. Of course she left. She blamed me for taking him away from her, and leaving her behind. She blamed me for her own survival, which she didn't want now that Edward was gone.

She left me for dead, and after what I had done, I couldn't blame her. If I had died that night, she might have forgiven me.

"I'm sorry, Jasper," my mother said, taking my hand in hers. I didn't deserve her comfort, nor her sympathy, but I took it anyway.

#

For the next six days, I woke up wishing I were dead. I thought about doing it—overdosing on morphine, throwing myself out the window, hanging myself by a bed sheet. But each time I thought about it, I found a reason not to. I thought of Bella at home in Forks, surviving. In that way, she wasn't alone.

So on the seventh day, I started to think about the present. Forget the past, forget the future; I focused on the here and now, on starting over.

But I never got anywhere. I stalled.

I couldn't move—couldn't take a single fucking step—without her.

So I started simple. I borrowed my mom's cell phone, and called the number I had committed to memory. Bella's cell phone went straight to voice mail, so I tried Charlie's number. I don't know how the hell I remembered those seven digits, but I did, somehow.

And I heard, after three rings, his deep, gravelly voice on the other end.

"Hello?" he said.

I cleared my throat. "Hi, uh, Chief Swan. This is Jasper Whitlock—"

I heard a deep sigh on the other end, cutting me off. My heart was racing with the prospect of actually talking to her, and hearing her voice.

"I don't think this is a good time," he said.

And just like that, every hope I had—every shred of motivation for living one more day—vanished.

"Okay," I said, disgusted by the tears blurring my vision. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, and twisted the white sheets in my fingers.

"I'm sorry, son," he said, and seemed to make a move to hang up. But I stopped him, my voice reeking of desperation.

"Is there…is there a time that might be better?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm sorry."

The sound of the click in my ear was deafening. But that flicker of hope returned as I hung up the phone, thought of her voice, and decided to try again tomorrow.

#

We went home to Forks two weeks later, loaded with painkillers and a shitload of anti-depressants. My parents' house was just outside of town, a few miles from Bella's house off Main Street. I called the Swan household each day at noon, and sometimes Charlie picked up, and sometimes it went to voice mail. Charlie never hung up on me, as I thought he might. But our conversations never lasted longer than a few seconds: usually just a hello, a request to talk to Bella, a denial, and then a good-bye. I never heard Bella in the background, and I never pressed him for information. But I knew she was there, because this was a small town, and everyone knew everything.

I spent the summer in physical therapy, which kicked my ass on a daily basis. It hurt like hell, and never got easier. But I savored it, each and every second of such unrelenting pain, because this was my punishment. I thought about Edward and Alice every day, and dreamt of them every night. They never said anything—this wasn't some kind of visitation from the dead bullshit. But they were there, always, and I woke up most mornings with tears streaming down my face.

Alice's parents lived in Chicago, and I talked to them a few times a week. I had met them only once, the day of our graduation, but they saw me as some kind of lingering connection to their only daughter. I didn't mind; I would have done anything to ease their grief. And just talking about Alice, even to her parents, in some ways brought her back to me.

Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen, lived just a few houses down from mine. As the months passed, Esme would stop by the house more often, but she rarely stayed very long when I was here. I knew I reminded her of Edward, even though we looked nothing alike. But we had been like brothers, always getting into trouble, growing up, learning lessons the hard way. And when she looked at me now, she thought of him and wondered why I survived, and he had not. I could tell what she was thinking just by looking at her; I could tell by the flash of guilt in her eyes when she looked at me, and thought of Edward.

It was almost July when I saw Charlie Swan for the first time. I was leaving the hospital for another torturous rehab session, and there he was, walking from his car into the ER, his strides brisk and deliberate. He never saw me, and I didn't say anything. But it was significant, in some intangible way. Seeing Charlie Swan didn't really bring me any closer to Bella, but it felt that way. And that was enough.

The next day, when I was actively looking for Charlie again since I had seen him the day before, I collided with someone else instead. I practically bounced off him since he was so huge, just as he had always been. A big, goofy grin spread on his face, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Jasper, you little shit. How the fuck are you, man?" Emmett asked, squeezing in as many obscenities as possible into a polite greeting. Some things never changed.

"Emmett, jeez. Been a while."

"Yeah, four years. Jeezus. How'd college treat you?"

"Not bad," I said, grateful for the inane conversation. He had undoubtedly heard about the accident—everyone in Forks knew every detail—but I knew Emmett wouldn't bring it up. He didn't like uncomfortable silences, and any mention of the accident would encourage a whole slew of those.

"Yeah, I'm done, too," he said. "Did the football thing, got a degree out of it. I can't complain."

I caught a glimpse of the ring on his finger, which was unavoidable given all the hand-waving. Emmett always gestured a lot with his hands, as if to exaggerate every story he told. But his theatrics never bothered me—the guy could always tell a hell of a story.

"You married?" I asked.

He looked a little confused at first, then broke into a wide grin. "Hell, yes," he said. "You remember Rosalie?"

"Sure," I said, picturing the curvaceous, leggy blonde from our high school days. "You guys tied the knot?"

"A few weeks ago. She just gets better with age, man. I'm lucky as fuck."

His words blindsided me, in a way I hadn't expected. I managed a smile, and hoped he didn't notice the strain behind it.

"That's great, Em. Congrats."

"Thanks," he said. "Hey, you should come by. We're having a barbecue this Sunday."

"Really?" I asked, feeling my heart stutter and stall all over the place. I couldn't come right out and ask if Bella would be there, but I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to.

"Yeah, Sunday at three. Bring beer."

#

Rosalie greeted me on Sunday afternoon, her legs just as long and tan as I remembered. To the casual observer, she seemed to fit the stereotype: blonde, kind of flaky, always dressed to the hilt. But she had a warm, genuine smile that made her even more beautiful than she actually was. I had always liked Rosalie, and in high school, the four of us had been close.

"Welcome to the party pit!" Emmett bellowed from across the room, which was crowded with faces I hadn't seen in five years. I scanned them quickly, searching for the one face in this room that occupied my every waking moment, but didn't see her. She wasn't here.

"Thanks," I said, and I hoped he didn't notice the disappointment in my voice. Emmett seemed completely immune to emotional cues, but Rosalie saw right through me. She smiled, and nodded toward the kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, and Emmett did some weird kind of chugging gesture that seemed to suggest what might come later.

We walked into the kitchen, which was overflowing with booze, food, chips, and of course, a keg. Rosalie pumped the thing like a pro, and poured me a cup of something cold and foamy.

"I haven't seen you in forever," she said, giving me the hug that Emmett had interrupted. "How are you, Jasper?"

"I'm okay," I said, glancing down at my cup. She said nothing, as if to suggest I hadn't yet answered the question.

"It's been hard," I said. "Harder than I thought."

"Of course it is. You've been to hell and back."

"Not sure I'm back yet," I muttered.

"You're getting there. So is she."

I looked up, felt that familiar flutter in my chest. I didn't know what to say.

"She's having a hard time, Jasper. But she's…getting there."

"I tried calling her, so many times."

"I know," she sighed. "She needs more time. Just be patient."

"She blames me."

"No," she said. "She doesn't blame you. She just doesn't know what to say to you. She's afraid of what she'll feel when she sees you."

"You mean Edward," I said, my stomach churning with those familiar feelings of guilt and grief and loss. And yet, for as bad as it was for me, it was probably a thousand times worse for Bella.

"You remind her of him. How could you not?"

I nodded, because in this case more than any other, I understood.

"But it isn't just about him," she said. "She misses you, too, Jasper. She wants to reach out to you, but she doesn't know how."

"I'll wait," I said. "I'll wait forever, if that's what it takes."

"It won't take forever," she said, a sad, wistful smile gracing her face. "But when it happens, just be there for her, in whatever way she needs you to be."

#

On the first day of August, in middle of a fucking monsoon, the power went out. At 11:45 am, with no cell phone service and a dead landline, I started to panic. Of course it probably didn't matter—Bella never answered the phone anyway. But I couldn't handle it. I had to call her. I had to find a way.

So I trudged into town, my clothes a wet, sopping mess by the time I reached the police station. There was a woman sitting at the front desk, looking bored out of her eyeballs, and she barely looked up when I walked in.

"Can I help you?" she asked, in a voice as flat as the expression on her face.

"Um, yes," I said. "Can I use the phone?"

"Which phone?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "That one on your desk?"

"There's a goddamn hurricane out there. The power's out."

"Yes, but this is the police station. Don't you have an emergency line?"

"Like what? Morris code?" she snorted, a little too amused by her own joke.

"Please," I said, glancing at the watch overhead. 11:58. Fuck. Fuck!

"How much does it mean to you?" she asked.

Jeezus Christ. This was Forks, not the mob. I suppressed an eye-roll and reached into my wallet.

"Seven bucks?" I asked. Damn, should have hit the ATM yesterday.

"Seven?" For a second or two, I thought for sure she was going to laugh me right out of the office.

"Fine," she said instead. "Use the phone in there."

After I recovered from the whole bizarre exchange, I headed into the little cubicle off the main entryway. The phone on the wall wasn't the typical office phone; it was attached to a radio, and when I picked up, there was a dispatcher on the other end.

"Uh, hi," I managed to say. "Can you connect me to Chief Swan's home phone?"

It hadn't even occurred to me that the Swans might also be dealing with the power outage, but it was too late to think about that now. The person on the other end sounded a little surprised, but eventually put me through.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the phone started ringing, and I knew by experience that if Charlie answered, he usually did so on the third ring. If he didn't pick up, it went to voicemail on the ninth ring.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and my heart sank a little bit at the prospect of another wasted message. But on the eighth ring, there was a little click, and then the sound of empty air. Someone picked up the phone, just long enough to breathe once, and then hung up without a word.

Bella had picked up the phone.

She had fucking _answered_.

It didn't matter that she didn't say anything, or that she hung up so quickly. Since I called every single day at the exact same time, she knew it was me. I controlled the urge to do a little dance around the office, and replaced the phone on the wall with a shit-eating grin on my face.

Maybe tomorrow, she would wait two seconds, instead of one. And maybe one day soon, instead of a nervous, shaky breath, I would hear her voice.

#

But the next day, instead of the breathy silence I had waited twenty-four hours to hear again, Charlie answered. I tried not to sound disappointed, especially since he seemed particularly talkative today. 'Talkative' for Charlie meant three questions about my life instead of one, but even so, I couldn't help but over-think his good mood. Had something happened? Was Bella sitting right there in the kitchen, listening to her father talk to me?

I tried not to think about it when I called the next day, with lower expectations than the day before. Maybe that first day was just a fluke; maybe she had picked up thinking it was some kind of emergency. That was definitely a possibility, given the rainstorm from hell.

But before I could rationalize whatever had happened that day, that little click on the eighth ring resounded in my ear like a chorus of angels. I expected two breaths this time, or maybe just a longer first one.

But I was wrong.

She spoke.

She was crying.

But she was there.

"Let me go," she whispered.

And hung up.

#

I didn't expect her to answer the next day, or the next, or any day after that for at least a few weeks. But just as I expected her to ignore me again, at least for a while, I knew she expected me to keep calling.

And so I did, each and every day at noon, as the summer waned into shorter days and cooler nights. The accident had almost left me paralyzed, but my ruthless attitude in physical therapy hastened my recovery. The doctors called it miraculous; I called it penance.

After college, I had planned to take a job in Chicago working at an investment firm, but I had no desire to move there anymore. I had even less of a desire to work in banking, which had seemed appealing at the time because it paid well. Now I couldn't remember what the hell I'd been thinking. Who the fuck worked 100 hours a week just for the money? Plenty of people, apparently. People who hadn't come within inches of death, only to discover later what suffering really was. Alice had tried to talk me out of it, repeatedly, and I should have listened to her. I wished I could go back and grant her every single one of her desires, from the hairless puppy she wanted to adopt (that thing was ugly as sin), to the spring break trip to Australia (why not Florida? I had asked, like a real tool), to the penthouse apartment in Lincoln Park (the fact that we were broke didn't matter to her).

I had heard about people with near-death experiences, whose lives—it seemed—always changed for the better. Mine hadn't changed for the better in every way, because real life just didn't work like that. I still spent most mornings in agony, until my muscles had loosened up and the painkillers kicked in. I rarely partook in social events, unless Emmett came in here and busted my balls. And I was twenty-two, and living with my parents, who were sympathetic but impatient. And I was, too, in some ways. At some point, I would have to find a job, maybe leave Forks. But a part of me was holding on to the familiar.

And a larger part of me was holding on to her.

The only person who knew this, though, was Rosalie. On the last Saturday in August, the night before my twenty-third birthday, she and Emmett busted through my front door with a bottle of two-buck-chuck and a case of Natty Ice.

"Wow, guys, you really went all out. Thanks," I said, attempting a straight face. But I failed, and Rosalie was already laughing when she handed me the bottle of the cheapest wine on the planet.

"It's Rose's favorite," Emmett said, chuckling as he kissed her cheek. I envied them, but in a good way, if that were possible. I envied them for what they had, not for what I lacked.

"So, then," Emmett said. "Where are the parentals?"

"Uh, gone," I said. "Long weekend in Vancouver."

"Just like old times," Emmett smirked. "I'm going to call a few friends."

"Emmett—"

"Jasper," he said, interrupting me before I had a chance to protest. "You've become old and boring. It is time for us to celebrate your entrance into middle age."

"Middle age?"

"Well fuck yes, middle age. Look at me, I'm already married!"

Rosalie rolled her eyes, took a swig of the red wine. She opened two cans of Natty Ice, and handed one to Emmett, and one to me.

"He's so good to me," she teased, but within the mocking tone of her voice was the unmistakable grain of truth.

"He is," I said, and fuck, I couldn't help it. I thought of Alice, and the way she talked to me, loved me, believed in me. I had spent my first year of college wandering in and out of so much booze and pot and women that I had almost dropped out. She had saved me once, and I had failed to do the same.

"Jasper," Rosalie said, her voice softer now. "You've waited long enough."

I knew what she meant. Finally, after three months of learning how to live again, I knew exactly what she meant.

#

I woke up the next day to a cold, grey rain, and a distant hangover. The party had begun here, migrated to the local pub, and ended up in Emmett and Rosalie's backyard. I had come back here, somehow, although I had only made it as far as the kitchen. The alcohol was dulling some of the pain, but I felt as though I had slept on a bed of knives. My back hurt like a bitch, and instead of trying to make it up the stairs for my bottle of Vicodin, I decided to sleep it off.

I don't know how I managed to sleep in a cloud of so much agony, but when I woke up, I felt surprisingly well-rested. The rain was still falling—even more heavily now, if that were possible—and I was glad it was Sunday. I didn't do physical therapy on Sunday. I didn't do shit on Sundays. I sat on the couch and watched True Blood, because Alice had always dropped everything for that show. And it didn't feel right to stop watching it just because she wasn't here.

I tried to roll over onto my side, and filled the whole house with my howls of pain. How could anyone live like this?

But every time I thought about the pain, I thought about that night, and I never wished it away. The pain was a constant reminder of the fact that I had walked away from that accident with my life, and two people had not.

Finally I managed to get to my feet, but not without toppling a few stools and chairs as I clawed my way to an upright position. I stumbled over to the kitchen sink, and poured myself a glass of water. Sweat was pouring off me, and I could feel my cheeks flush with the exertion of getting over here. I knew I looked like hell, and I was glad there was no one here to see it.

I finished the water in a few swift, fluid gulps, and stood up straight. I looked out the window, expecting to see the usual Sunday activity—the little train of churchgoers, parked outside along our street. But I didn't see a damn thing. No cars, no pious people, no kids in their Sunday best.

At first I thought it was the rain, or maybe some kind of holiday. Like Easter, maybe. No. Shit. Easter was in the spring. Maybe a holy day…did they even have those anymore?

I walked around to the back door, unlocked it, and stepped outside. The little overhang kept me protected from the rain, but there was an angry, swirling wind that penetrated my thin layer of clothes.

So I stepped back inside, still distantly aware of the feeling that something was off. I walked through the foyer, my footsteps slow and heavy on the oak floors, until the sound of the massive grandfather clock shattered the stillness of the early morning.

I stood there, mildly annoyed by the sheer volume of the thing, until I realized what was missing.

There were chimes missing.

One chime?

One chime means one o'clock.

No.

_No_.

Every thought of the searing pain in my back was forgotten as I sprinted toward the front door. I threw it open, ran out onto the front lawn. I didn't even think about calling her; hell, I didn't want to, not anymore.

If she didn't see me today, then she would never see me. Our connection would be broken, and I would learn to live with that. This was her choice, not mine. Today our lives would intersect once again, or they would diverge forever.

My parents had taken the car to Vancouver, so fuck, I had to run. And so I did, through the splintering pain in my back, which seemed to radiate to every nerve ending in my broken, battered body. But instead of slowing down, instead of cursing myself for leaving that bottle of pills at home, I ran faster. For the first time in four months, I wasn't holding back.

I don't know how long it took me to get there. I just ran the same route I remembered from the Forks Elementary school bus, which had stopped at my house first, then Edward's, then Bella's. I ran past each of them, witnesses to so many childhoods gone by. At least we had that. We would always have that.

When I turned the corner onto Bella's little street, I recognized her blue tin mailbox with white lettering. I finally slowed down as I stepped over the curb and onto her driveway, which Charlie had never bothered to pave. The gravel shifted underneath my feet, and it took everything I had to keep from calling out her name. So I just stood there for a while, and took a few deep, calming breaths, while the cold rain soaked my skin.

I didn't feel pain as I walked, one step in front of the other, toward her familiar front stoop. An old maple—Edward's favorite climbing tree—sheltered the porch, and I admired it with a wistful, reverent smile.

"This is for you, Edward," I said to myself, my words dying in the cold wind. "All of this was for you."

I took a deep breath, and thought once more of the last four months. Of all the calls, the waiting, the uncertainty. And most of all, the hope I had that she would answer.

I removed my hand from my side, and brought it up to the doorbell. I resisted the urge to look inside, to see if anyone was home.

I just had to do it.

Ring it, Jasper.

_Just fucking do it_.

But I didn't have to.

Because before I could ring that damn bell, before I could even breathe, the door flew open and there she was.

Bella.

_Bella._

She didn't say anything as she flew off the porch, and crushed her little body into mine. She hugged me with everything she had, her arms wrapped around my neck, her legs dangling in the air as I lifted her up. I felt her melt into me, her body as soft and slender as I remembered, her hair carrying the faint scent of strawberries, the way it always did.

"I'm so sorry," I said, over and over and over again. "I'm so, _so_ _sorry_."

"I know," she said, her voice faltering in the violent howls of the wind. And it was as if all of my suffering, all of my brokenness, slipped away at the sound of her voice.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For not listening to me," she said. "For never letting go."

--

**Thank you for reading!  
**


	2. Rebirth

**A/N: **So here we go, the continuation of Forgiven! I'm so glad **SweetDulcinea** bid on this continuation in the Fandom Gives Back Auction, because I really wanted to write it but wasn't sure I'd find the time. She's an incredible writer in her own right, so go check out her stories!

I also want to thank **ElleCC**, who put up with my weird confusion and faulty organizational skills. She also co-hosted the For the Love of Jasper Contest, for which the original one-shot was written. She did a fantastic job with the contest, not to mention the fact that she's an amazing writer, too. Go check out her stories if you haven't already!

A little note about the story...it picks up right where Chapter 1 left off. This is a Jasper/Bella story (if you didn't notice, I killed off Edward in Chapter 1. Sorry). Edward will, however, have a presence in this story. So if you like him, you'll see I haven't completely thrown him out of my little universe. No, he doesn't come back like Jesus. I have my limits, people.

This is an angsty story. Not a lot of fluff here. I had a deep talk with myself about "too much angst in fanfiction," but ultimately decided that this is the way I envisioned the story, and so here it is. I've told many of my reviewers that the theme of this story is "redemption," not "depression."

Whew. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please review if you get the chance, it would mean the world to me. :)

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 2

**BPOV**

I had never liked the word _rebirth_. It had always sounded so stodgy, so melodramatic, like something someone might say at a cocktail party or a distant relative's funeral. But that's how I felt when I saw Jasper standing there on my front porch, soaked from head to toe, looking every bit as vulnerable as he did on our first day of kindergarten. And I realized right then that I wasn't the only one being reborn. I wasn't the only one who had lived three long months in life's shadow, wondering if I would ever again find reason to leave it.

We just stood there for seconds, minutes, hours—I didn't know, didn't care. Every part of him felt familiar. Every word, every breath, every detail of who he was and always had been.

But of course things had changed. His whole body seemed shaken, his frame ravaged by time and memories and a harsh physical toll. I knew more about Jasper's recovery than he could possibly know; I had listened to each and every one of his conversations with Charlie, although I would never admit that to him. I just had to know. I missed him. I missed us. But then again, I missed a lot of things.

I missed Edward.

And he wasn't coming back.

Did I blame Jasper for it? How many times had I asked myself that question? How many times had I convinced myself that no, it wasn't his fault, that life was simply cruel and unfair?

I could see it there now, the raw, desperate apology splayed across his face, as if every emotion he had ever felt was laid bare for me to see. I knew in my heart what he wanted, and what only I could grant. And he deserved it, a thousand times over.

He needed my forgiveness as much as I needed to give it.

"Bella, I'm so, so sorry," he whispered for the twentieth time, his eyes cast downward as he stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. Already I missed the warmth of his embrace, as the cold, wet air settled between us.

"I know, Jasper," I said, and his expression seemed to brighten, if only for a moment. But I couldn't say the words. I couldn't give him what he so desperately wanted because I didn't even know who I was anymore.

"I blame myself for everything," he said. "Because it's my fault."

His fingers were red and raw, and every muscle in his body seemed to tremble with the cold. I opened my mouth to invite him in but changed my mind at the look on his face. This wasn't so easy for him, I thought.

And it was foolish to think it was so easy for me.

I looked down at the paint-chipped floorboards, at the small, but meaningful space between us. The cold, once forgotten, seeped into my bones. I crossed my arms and tried to keep my teeth from chattering.

"Life's too short to carry so much guilt…" I started, but my voice faltered before I could finish the sentence. Life was so damn short. Not for me, maybe, but for others…

"Do you blame me, Bella? For what happened? Because you should—"

"No," I said, my eyes snapping up to meet his. It didn't matter what would have happened if the waitress had gone to the bathroom instead of giving us our check or the food had taken five minutes longer or Jasper had lost his keys and we'd never gotten into the car in the first place. It didn't matter because it happened and that was it. That was fucking it.

"I want to make this right somehow," he said. "I just…I'll do whatever it takes, Bella."

I shook my head, ignoring the chill in my veins. Already the distance between us seemed larger now, almost impassable.

"You can't bring them back," I whispered. My voice barely carried over the howl of the wind, but I knew he heard me. I knew because that flicker of hope in his crystal blue eyes suddenly vanished, like snuffing out a flame. Then I was crying for no reason at all, my tears mixing with the cold rain. I didn't want him to see how weak I was, even after all this time. I didn't want him to know because I didn't want him to help me, but I didn't want him to go. I wanted everything and nothing and it wasn't fair.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. It was easy for us, because no one understood silence better than people whose lives consisted of little more than broken memories. Only when he took that first step off my porch did I find my voice.

"No," I cried, stumbling over my own two feet as I reached for him. I hugged him again, hard and desperate and true, and I got that feeling again.

Rebirth.

"I miss them, Jasper," I said, the words rattling in my throat. "I miss them so much."

"I do, too, Bella. You have no idea."

"But it hurts to remember. It hurts so much that sometimes I'd just rather forget everything, and I know that's horrible and wrong but I can't function sometimes, I can't even breathe…"

I pulled away slightly, no longer worried about the tears on my face or the embarrassing wobble in my voice.

"I know I can't bring them back," he said, and even though we were both soaking wet, he felt warm to me. Like Edward had been. Warm and familiar and safe.

"Jasper..."

"But we can find a way to remember them," he said. "Starting here. Starting from the beginning."

***

***

**The rest of the chapters will be longer, and the story will be about 12ish chapters long. I will update frequently (at least once a week).  
**

**Thanks for reading!  
**


	3. The List

**A/N: **I swear I'm not trying to yank out heart strings. The flashbacks have a purpose. They are not random. You shall see.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!! I love hearing from you.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 3

**JPOV**

"_Bella?? Ew!!" Edward cried, then stuck his tongue out to ram his point home. "She's gross!"_

"_I dare you," I said, grinning like the little devil I was. Our teacher, Mrs. Denali, loved but also hated me. She adored my cute little smile and big blue eyes, but hated the constant pranks I played on everyone—her included. Whenever she caught me and Edward smiling, she knew something was up._

"_Gross," he muttered, kicking his feet in the dirt. He glared at me with a scowl on his face, then glanced across the playground at Bella. She was small for her age, a pretty little girl with bright chocolate eyes and a rare, but radiant smile. When she smiled, she looked almost like the woman she would one day become._

"_Double dare you," I pressed.  
_

"_Ewww."_

"_Wimp."_

"_Am not."_

"_Am too."_

"_Am not."_

"_Then do it!"_

_He bristled at me as his eyes darted back to Bella, who was trying to climb onto the swings. She couldn't quite get there, and her brow was knotted in frustration. But I knew Bella Swan. She would die trying, if she had to. She wanted to see the world from that swing, and she would find a way._

"_What do I get?" Edward asked._

_I shuffled around in my pockets. "My lunch money?"_

_His eyebrow went up as he eyed the coin in my palm. "A quarter?"_

_I reached a little deeper. "Here," I said. "Five bucks."_

"_Done," he said, smirking as he swiped the bill from my hands._

_I followed him over to the swing set, anxious to see this up close. Bella was kind of untouchable, the girl from the wrong side of the tracks who never brought anything to show-and-tell. I knew her dad was the chief of police, and I think that scared just about everyone. No one wanted to mess with the cops, not even five-year-olds._

_Edward tapped her on the shoulder as she fiddled with the swing, trying to steady it so she could climb on. She whirled around, her cheeks red with frustration._

"_Hi," he said. _

_She huffed and turned back around, but Edward tapped her shoulder again, the smirk growing on his face. She exhaled loudly as she spun around, her face flushed, her eyes blazing._

"_What?" she asked._

_Edward shot a quick glance at me, as if to say, _Your money is mine. _And then he focused on her again, that same teasing smile playing on his lips. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked._

_Her eyes widened, as all kindergarteners' do when they hear the word 'secret.' She put her hands on her hips and blew her hair out of her face with a disgruntled huff._

"_Of course I can," she said. "But your secrets are stupid."_

"_This is a good one," he argued._

"_How good?"_

_He shrugged. "It's so good that no one else knows because it's top-secret and I saved it for you because you can keep secrets."_

_While I tried to keep up with that bumbling argument, she seemed to hang on his every word. Skepticism flashed in her dark brown eyes, but it was no match for her curiosity. Edward had that effect on people—he could draw anyone in with that boyish, crooked grin, although Bella seemed especially susceptible. Once he had her in his clutches, she just couldn't look away._

"_Okay," she said, her expression softening just the slightest bit. _

_He took a step closer, gauging her reaction. And then he leaned in as if he were heading for her ear, but at the last second he turned his head and kissed her right on the lips. She coughed and sputtered and shoved him with her tiny hands, and then they just stood there, staring at each other in some kind of stalemate._

"_You suck, Edward Cullen," she said. And then she stomped off towards the sliding board._

_Edward watched her go, started walking towards me, and smiled the biggest, purest grin I'd ever seen. When he handed me my five-dollar bill, I looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes. Edward had never lost a bet, and he always took advantage of the reward._

"_What's wrong?" I asked. "Was she too gross?"_

"_Nope," he said, as he looked off into the distance, his eyes finding the warm brown stare of Bella Swan. "She's perfect."_

_***_

The first part of my plan didn't happen right away. Bella had a routine, an ordered progression of hours and days and tasks, that made things easier for her. That's what she said, anyway. But I knew better.

She didn't like to leave the house. She didn't like to go outside and see things that reminded her of Edward, because everything in Forks reminded her of him. Our street, his house, the diner, the school. Those things reminded her of other things, too, but it was Edward that dominated her every thought, her every memory. I knew that feeling, but my fixation was something else entirely. It was guilt.

Bella didn't invite me in that day. Maybe she could sense I wasn't ready, or maybe she wasn't ready, or maybe it just didn't feel right. Not yet anyway. Not with so many walls between us, unspoken and undefined, but there nonetheless.

Instead she called me the next day at noon, just as I had done for so many days. She never talked about herself. Just asked about my daily life, like what I did that day, where I went, who I talked to. I brought up physical therapy once, and never did it again. It reminded her of the accident; I could sense it just by talking to her. And right now, I didn't want to push it. If she didn't want to remember it or talk about or get closure from it, then I'd accept that.

Bella, though, had her own timetable. When I picked up the phone two weeks later, she spoke in a low, determined voice I almost didn't recognize.

"Let's go tomorrow," she said.

"Where?" I asked.

"The school. I want to do what you said, Jasper. I think we owe them that much."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said, her voice soft, but strong. "More than I've ever been."

***

We went the next day, on a crisp, clear Monday morning. The school was just down the street, and Bella wanted to walk. I started to ask her if she'd been in a car since the accident, but stopped myself. She had to have been.

I tried to shake off the thought, but it lingered there for a long while. Could a human being even function these days with such a crippling phobia? I didn't like to think about it.

She came down the porch steps to meet me, long before I made it to the top of her driveway. I still hadn't been inside her house since sometime before the accident; she hadn't asked me in, and I hadn't invited myself. Then again, I hadn't exactly opened my own doors to her. Would she come if I asked? I somehow doubted it.

"Hey," I said, smiling at the sight of her. She was wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, which managed to hide some of the weight she had lost. And she had lost a lot. Since she'd been so tiny to begin with, I didn't like to think about how thin she had become. Like everything else, I felt in some ways responsible for it. And like everything else, I just wanted to fix it.

"Hey, Jasper," she replied, her lips curling up in a soft, shy smile.

"Nice day for a change," I said, which was a weak attempt to ease her up a bit. She looked tense, her fingers fidgeting, her eyes dark with worry.

"Mmhm," she said, looking up. Even with her fragile frame and the shadows under her eyes, she was still a beautiful woman. Edward had always thought so. I had noticed it, too, of course, but not the way he had. Not the way a man looks at the woman he loves, but as a friend. Or as a guy, who knows a hot girl when he sees one.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Um," she stalled, looking back toward the sanctuary of her house. Her father's cruiser was gone, and the house was dark. But to Bella, it must have looked a hell of a lot more inviting than the alternative.

"Come on," I said, encouraging her as gently as I dared. We were standing just a few feet apart, and I wondered if I should reach out and hold her hand or something. But no, that was too invasive. Way too invasive. Maybe her arm, then?

"I don't know…" she started.

"It's a good day for a walk," I said, and before she could protest, I linked my arm with hers and tugged her along. I had done this hundreds, maybe thousands of times before the accident, as friends who goof off and laugh and hang on each other. It was just a friendly gesture, but it felt different this time, the way her body tensed at the contact, and her smile faltered. Was she thinking about Edward? Was she giving up all over again?

"Bella—"

"I'm okay," she said, glancing up at me with a strained, but genuine smile. She pulled me a little closer, and we walked, arm-in-arm, towards Forks Elementary School.

***

The playground came into view first. It looked the same, really, aside from a few modest improvements. The swings were still there, along with the sliding board, the sea-saw, and the monkey bars from which Edward and I had fallen on countless occasions. There were kids there now, swinging and playing and laughing. And there was Mrs. Denali, of course, whose stringy brown hair had turned grey, and whose big blue eyes were obscured by old frames. She glimpsed us from across the playground and waved us over.

I took a step forward, but stopped when Bella didn't move. She stood there rigid, her gaze fixed on the empty swings. The kindergarteners couldn't quite reach them, so they kept to the slide or the ropes. Apparently no one had the steely resolve Bella had once possessed, and still did.

"I can't," she whispered. She never took her eyes away from the swings, never flinched or even blinked.

"I can't do this without you," I said. I was talking in the gentlest tones imaginable; I didn't want to break her. If I brought her any more pain than she'd already endured, I'd never forgive myself.

"You were there," she said, her voice breaking. "It's your memory, too."

I opened my mouth to say something, to apologize, to tell her I wished more than anything that I could wrench that horrible night from her memory. But I realized then that she wasn't talking about the accident. She wasn't talking about the one and only memory either one of us had thought about for the last three months.

She was talking about our first memory. The playground.

The day Edward fell in love with her.

"I know," I said, fighting the tremor in my voice. I never cried, but fuck, I couldn't help myself. Not when I was standing next to Bella, watching her fall apart, wishing with every fiber of my being I could give her Edward instead of a distant, faded memory.

"Thank you," she said, and a faint smile rose on her face. "For daring him, I mean."

I swallowed hard. "You knew about that?"

"Edward told me, years later. It's a good memory, Jasper. One of my happiest."

"I didn't bring you here to make this worse for you, Bella."

She sighed, her brown eyes twinkling in the bright September sun. "It happened. It always will have happened. Nothing, not even circumstances or bad luck, can take that away. That's the beauty of memories, I guess."

_And the tragedy_, I thought. But today wasn't about that. Today was about a good memory, a happy one.

"Come on," she said. "Mrs. Denali is going to break her arm if she keeps waving like that."

I smiled at her, a real smile this time, as she tugged on my arm and headed for the playground. Mrs. Denali, like always, was sitting on the nearest bench. She smiled when she saw us and hugged us tightly. All the while, she kept her eyes on the kids. She had eyes everywhere, that woman did.

"Two of my favorites," she said, patting the bench for us to sit down. "Jasper Whitlock and Bella Swan. It's been a long time."

We nodded. We had both left Forks four years ago, perhaps never to return. We'd had big hopes, big dreams. And here we were, with nothing but memories, still stumbling through the aftermath.

"What brings you back?" she asked. A little girl walked up to Bella and handed her a flower. Then she ran off, leaving Bella with a surprised, wistful look on her face.

"Just wanted to remember," Bella said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Mrs. Denali nodded, because like everyone in this town, she knew about the accident. But instead of the barrage of questions that usually followed, she preferred to let the silence speak for itself.

"Are you two staying in town?" she asked.

Bella hesitated, then nodded. "For at least a while," she said.

I shrugged. "Not sure," I said. And that was the truth. I had no idea how long I'd stay here. My parents wanted me to move out and therefore, move on, but I always found a way to kill those conversations. I didn't feel ready to leave just yet. I wondered if I ever would.

"Well, I could use an assistant," she said. "Not to exclude you, Jasper, but you don't seem the kindergarten teacher type."

I smiled sheepishly. "I'm not," I said. "I mean, I'd just add to the chaos around here."

"Bella?" she asked.

"I, um, I don't know." She looked down at the hem of her sweatshirt, which had frayed in her fingers.

"I'm getting old, you know," Mrs. Denali said, her blue eyes twinkling. "Too old for these little goobers."

Bella smiled at that, but it wasn't a concession. Not even close. "I'll think about it," she said.

"Well, that's all I ask," Mrs. Denali replied, her gaze settling on the empty swings. "It's a humble job, but a rewarding one. Kids never forget their first year of school."

"Or their teacher," I added.

Mrs. Denali wasn't the type to fuss over compliments, although I hadn't meant it that way. People don't forget their kindergarten teachers; hell, she was one of the few teachers I actually did remember.

"I remember all my students," Mrs. Denali said. "But I cheat."

She winked at us then; well, it sure looked like a wink at me. Then she rounded up her herd of giggling kids and ushered them inside. We followed her because she waved us right along, as if we were one of her obedient minions. After she got everyone settled, she started right up with a new assignment of some sort, and handed us a few crayons.

"Ten things you want to do when you grow up," she said, in her loud classroom voice. "Pictures are fine, of course."

Bella and I just looked at each other for a second, and then set to work. After a half hour or so, the presentations began, complete with pictures and vivid imaginations. Going to space was a pretty popular goal, as was being a rockstar. But there were pretty standard things too, like visiting a big city or riding a rollercoaster or being a grown-up. I looked at my list and frowned. It was so boring. So flat. It read more like a textbook than a wish list.

"Don't worry, dears," she said to me and Bella, after the day had wrapped up and all the kids had gone home. "I won't ask to see your lists."

"Well, that's a relief," I mumbled. "Mine sucks."

"I think mine could use some work, too," Bella said.

Mrs. Denali said nothing as she walked over to a creaky file cabinet, opened up the middle drawer, and fished inside for three pieces of white construction paper. The edges were ragged and torn, the wax of the crayons faded, but the names at the top were unmistakable.

I felt my heart skip at least five beats, and I could have sworn Bella's did the same.

"I hold on to these," Mrs. Denali said. "All of them."

She lay them before us, and I thought for sure Bella would shatter. Just completely break, right here in a kindergarten classroom. She looked at Edward's list first, at the big, block letters, and the scraggly handwriting. He had drawn a few pictures, too, but every goal on that list was unmistakable.

"I can't believe you still have these," she muttered. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears came anyway. And yet she didn't fall apart. She seemed almost…hopeful.

"You all had big imaginations," Mrs. Denali said. "All very worthwhile goals, I'd say."

I looked down at my list. 'Be President' was number four. I chuckled at that one. Who the hell did I think I was?

"Maybe unrealistic," I said.

"Who's to judge?" she asked. "Who was it that said 'pretty much all the honest truth telling in the world is done by children'?"

"Someone smart?" I suggested.

She laughed. "Keep your lists," she said. "Both of them. And figure out which one you think is worth pursuing. And then, make it happen."

"But Mrs. Denali," Bella started, her voice quiet, a little shaky. "Edward…he can't…"

"Take it," she said. "I think he would have wanted you to have it."

Bella picked it up, felt the soft, tattered edges in her fingers. She was trying hard not to cry, and only partially succeeding.

"Thank you," she said, and Mrs. Denali just smiled, as if she had pictured this moment the second she glimpsed us standing outside. Hell, she probably had. And for that I was almost grateful.

A few minutes later we were walking back down the road toward Bella's house, and for once, I was at a total loss for words. She had those five sheets of paper clutched to her chest, her arms crossed over them like a shield.

"Are you okay?" I finally asked, because honestly, I had no idea if she was or not.

When she turned to me, though, she didn't look distraught. She didn't look unraveled, or hopeless, or desperate. She just removed Edward's list from her little pile, and handed it to me.

"We can do this," she said.

I looked down at the list, which suddenly seemed long and impossible.

"Bella, some of these are…"

"Impossible?" she asked.

I looked at a strange drawing of a purple planet. "Well…"

"I thought leaving my house was impossible, Jasper. I thought seeing you, coming here, getting my life back together…I thought those things were impossible, too."

I looked down at my shoes, at the dry gravel beneath my feet. "Me, too," I admitted.

"Then let's try," she said. "Let's at least try."

I looked at Edward's list, and then hers, and then mine. We had two each, one realistic, one idealistic. Edward never got that chance.

His was the only list that mattered.

"Where do we start?" I asked.

She glanced at the list and shrugged. "Number one?"

"Hmm," I said, eyeing the long list of stick figures, all in a row. I thought I recognized a few people in there, but then again, you can't really tell with stick figures.

I allowed myself a little smile as it dawned on me, as if Edward himself were telling me to snap out of the fucking clouds and do something.

So I did.

"Bella," I said. "How long has it been since you've seen Rosalie Hale?"

***

***


	4. Number One

**A/N:** Thanks everyone, for reading. Even though I always feel a little bit bad for putting people through the emotional ringer, I also feel like that's a very great compliment. I promise there is a reason for all the heartache in this story.

Several of you mentioned Alice. Yes, she will definitely have a presence, more so later on.

And to those of you who said you usually (or always) just read E/B fics, thank you for giving this story a chance. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 4

**BPOV**

"_Dad, no," I pouted, for the hundredth time that day. I didn't want a birthday party, which apparently wasn't normal for eight-year-olds. My dad insisted on throwing one, no matter what I did to convince him otherwise._

"_It's your birthday," he said. "It's only right that you celebrate it."_

"_I did," I mumbled. "At school."_

"_It'll just be a few of your friends, okay?"_

"_My only friends are Edward and Jasper!" I cried, biting my lip. Charlie just shook his head, and rested his great big hands on the edge of the counter. To me, anyway, they were big. Huge, even. I loved my dad, but he kind of intimidated me._

"_That's not true," he said. "What about that girl? The one in your class…Rosemarie?"_

"_Rosalie," I huffed. "And she's not my friend."_

"_Why not?" he asked. Dads didn't understand this. Moms did, but I didn't have one of those, so he had to wing it._

"_Because she's not," I grumbled. _

_Charlie seemed satisfied with that, at least for the moment. He didn't understand that I was the awkward kid, the girl who didn't seem to hang out with other girls, and worst of all, the police chief's daughter. Some of the kids gave me nasty looks just for the heck of it, and I never understood why. Well, later I did. My dad had busted their brothers and sisters, usually for speeding or drinking or throwing toilet paper on stoplights._

_I tried to forget about my stupid party until Charlie rolled in a birthday cake and candles, and all sorts of food, and a big table with lots of place settings. I wanted to storm out of the house and run away forever, but I knew I wouldn't get far. I'd tried it once, but only made it to the edge of the yard before I got scared._

_The doorbell rang, and I opened it to see Edward and Jasper standing there with excited grins on their faces. I didn't have it in me to tell them they were the only ones, that they probably would be for the duration of the party. I wasn't dumb. I could see my dad pacing in the kitchen, checking his watch again and again and again. The party had started twenty minutes ago and no one was here but my two best friends._

"_Oh, hey, Chief Swan," Edward said. He was the talkative one—good with words, with saying the right thing, with capturing people's attention. Jasper was quiet, a little shy. But he managed a polite hello for my dad, and swiped a cookie from the countertop._

"_Hi, Edward. Jasper," Charlie said, never one for wasting words. Everyone looked around the empty room for a few awkward, painful seconds, and then out of nowhere, hot, angry tears started rolling down my cheeks._

"_Bella—" Charlie started, pain etched on his features. Then the doorbell rang, and it was, up to that point in my life, the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Jasper ran down the hall to answer it, while Edward stood by me, his arm around my shoulder, his presence more comforting than anything my father could have said._

_It took Jasper a few seconds to open our heavy front door (which my father locked, even at the start of a birthday party on a Sunday afternoon). Finally the door swung open, and the whole house filled with the excited squeals of giddy eight-year-olds, who rushed toward me like an army. Well, they rushed toward the tables of crafts and games, offering me a cursory 'Happy Birthday' as they went. All except one girl, the prettiest and most popular girl, who had tried so many times to talk to me while I just shied away._

"_This is for you, Bella," Rosalie said, handing me a little box, wrapped in silver paper. I opened it with shaky hands, too stunned to speak. Inside was the most extraordinary bracelet I had ever seen, made with pearls and beads and little pendants. To an eight-year-old, at least, it was the best present in the world._

"_I made it," she said. "It's a friendship bracelet."_

_Edward held the box while I put it on, admiring the beads in the soft slants of light. She smiled as I admired it, my little heart welling with pride and gratitude. "It's awesome," I said._

"_Can we be friends?" she asked. _

_I nodded. "For…for how long?" I asked, thinking that of course she'd forget about me, or move on, or take back the bracelet and give it to someone else. Eight-year-olds thought this way. Especially insecure ones._

"_For life," she said._

_I found out years later that Rosalie Hale had rounded up all those girls for the party, had told them to stop being babies and get over the fact that my dad wore a gun to work. I never had to worry about unattended birthday parties after that. People listened to Rosalie Hale. _

_Except me, I thought. The dissolution of our friendship was my fault, and even though I'd blamed it on time and circumstance, my heart knew better._

_I owed her so much more than that. In some ways, I owed her everything._

***

I hadn't seen Rosalie Hale—well, Rosalie McCarty, according to Jasper—since the day we all left for college. Four years had passed since then, and our casual conversation through phone and email and other artificial communication had dwindled to nothing. I hadn't spoken to her in over a year.

Jasper didn't say much about her, but he didn't have to. I could picture Rosalie even now, as full of life as she'd always been. I wanted to see her, but I didn't. I knew she'd take one look at me and call me out on all my bullshit. Bullshit meaning all the weight I had lost, among other things. I knew she understood how much Edward meant to me. I certainly knew that. But Rosalie didn't stand for wallowers. She would say that grief, like everything else, wore out its welcome eventually.

So when Jasper called a few days later to tell me that we were going out with Rosalie and Emmett, I panicked.

"Where?" I demanded.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Not…not in town," I mumbled.

"Rosalie's house?"

I took a deep breath, a failed attempt to calm my nerves. She lived on the other side of town. I couldn't walk there. And there was no way in hell I was getting in a car. Emmett, though, lived closer. Just down the street, really. I could easily walk it.

"How about Emmett's?" I suggested.

"Well, I mean, they live together, Bella."

I groaned. "I forgot," I said. "Where do they live now?"

"By the elementary school. Just a few blocks from you."

I knew he could probably hear my sigh of relief on the other end, but I didn't care. At least I'd be spared an explanation, for just one more day.

"Bella, if you're afraid of driving—"

"I'm not," I lied, but of course he knew better. I could tell by the loud sigh on the other end.

"Okay," he said, choosing to let it go. He let most things go, but even that was changing. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was relieved, or grateful. I needed someone to push me, but if he pushed too hard, I'd let him go. I'd cut him out of my life because I was too weak to face my own fears.

"Is Sunday okay?" he asked.

"What time?"

I had a routine, and any implication of breaking it sent me into a panic. Jasper knew this, although I'd never actually put it into words. He just picked up on things like that, the way old friends do. The way quiet people do. Jasper could read people better than anyone I'd ever met.

"Four," he said. "That work?"

"Well—"

"Bella," he said, his voice a little louder, a little sterner. He knew when to push, and when to back off. I had to give him credit for that.

"Four's good," I said.

***

I met Jasper on my front porch at 3:45 on Sunday afternoon. Before the accident, I hadn't always been the most punctual person, not because I was lazy, but because I didn't worry too much about being on time. There was more to life, Edward had always said, than rushing around all the time. And if you were late, you were late. It happens. Just like so many other things.

These days, every detail of my life adhered to a schedule. I woke up everyday at the same time, ate breakfast, walked around the yard, read books my dad got me from the library, ate lunch, took another walk, did chores, cooked dinner, ate dinner, read some more, and went to bed. All of these things happened at very regular intervals, at very specific times. When someone or something disrupted my routine, I got upset. Those were the worst days, usually. So I avoided them.

Unfortunately, I couldn't avoid this. So I told myself over and over again that it was just for an hour, just a quick hello and maybe dinner, and then I could go home. I could even cook dinner, just as I always did, even if I didn't eat it. I could still stick to my schedule.

I didn't tell Jasper any of this, but I knew he sensed it anyway. I rarely spoke about my days to him, but I sometimes talked about the books I read or the recipes I liked. He paid attention to those things. From that, I suspected he knew more about me than I liked to admit.

While I tried to prepare myself for a very unpredictable encounter with two people I hadn't seen in a long time, Jasper led the way to their new house. Maybe they had changed. Maybe they even resented me for so many months of silence.

"You're going to chew that lip off," Jasper said, and he was right, my lip was starting to bleed with all the nervous chewing I'd been doing. I stopped, and started fidgeting instead.

"I guess I'm a little nervous," I admitted.

"Don't be," he said. "They're the same, Bella. They haven't changed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said, and I caught a flicker of something in his eyes, but then it passed. I knew he had seen them over the summer, but he'd never offered any more details than that. But I sensed it was important. Rosalie and Emmett had come back into his life, and it had changed him somehow.

Would it change mine? Would it have changed Edward's, if he had survived and I hadn't?

I thought of Edward's list, sitting on my desk at home. He had drawn at least twenty stick figures, a big number one, and then the words, A GOD FREN. I was pretty sure he meant _A good friend_, which made sense. Edward had always been a good and loyal friend, not just to me and Jasper, but to countless people in his life. The fact that he had aspired to that, even as a five-year-old, didn't surprise me.

"We're here," he said, stopping beside a bright white mailbox. I looked up to see a small, but cozy house, with white siding and forest green shutters. It comforted me, just a little bit, to see where they lived. It reminded me of home, of the familiar.

"Wait," I said, grasping his arm as he headed up the driveway. "Do you think…do you think they'll ask about that night?"

I always called it 'that night.' It was easier that way, somehow. I couldn't stand the sound of 'the accident.' The accident implied some kind of random chance, and my brain just couldn't process that concept. Young, healthy people didn't die because of random chance. They died because fate screwed them over.

"I think Rosalie was always a good friend of yours, and still is. She would never hurt you, Bella."

"I know," I said, dropping my gaze. I felt ashamed all of a sudden, because Rosalie deserved better than that. Here I was doubting her on her own front porch, and I felt more like a traitor than a friend.

"Come on, Bellie," he said, linking his arm with mine as he had done that first day. He only did it for a second or two, but it was enough to calm me down.

"Ugh, I always hated that name," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Really?" he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips. "That was one of my faves."

"It was better than Belch," I conceded, smiling at the memory. He laughed at that, and it was the first time in three long months I'd heard anyone laugh at anything.

"How about Itchy Izzy?"

"God," I groaned, and soon I was laughing, too. "That one wasn't even close to my real name!"

"Swannie?"

"Ugh, horrible."

"Jingle Bells?"

"Only at Christmas."

"Isabella?"

When we finally stopped laughing, an unusual kind of silence settled between us. I looked up and into his crystal blue eyes, which were brighter now, brighter than I'd seen them in a very long time.

"That isn't a nickname," I said.

"But no one ever calls you that."

"Well, no. I mean, I guess it's too many syllables."

"It's pretty though," he said, and for some inexplicable reason, I blushed at the compliment. I knew he meant it, of course. Jasper Whitlock never lied. He just lacked that gene or something.

"I never said you couldn't call me that, you know."

"Hmm," he said, and for a second he seemed to think about it. "Well, you know me. I can't handle more than two syllables, Swannie."

I rolled my eyes and let him lead, which he did in a few quick, fluid strides. He didn't give me a chance to reconsider. He just rang that bell like he owned it, and waited five seconds for Rosalie and Emmett to appear at the door.

I had spent days worrying about this exact moment, but within a tenth of a second, I knew I shouldn't have. Rosalie threw her arms around me and hugged the crap out of me, even though I didn't deserve it. She didn't care about my mistakes. She didn't care about anything but seeing me again, the way friends always do.

Emmett hugged me, too, and his whole body seemed to swallow me up. He was huge, always had been, and I felt like a frail child in his arms. But protected, too. Safe.

"Well, shit, Bella," Emmett roared. "We were beginning to worry you'd gone all hermit on us."

***

It took me only a few minutes to realize that something was off. It started when Emmett offered me a soda instead of a beer, and it continued straight through dinner. I soon noticed that no one was drinking—not Rosalie, not Jasper, not even Emmett, who could pound an entire keg of Natty Ice without coming up for air. I almost brought it up at one point, but Jasper and Rosalie disappeared into the kitchen, and the moment was lost.

Emmett and I tried to talk football for a while, but of course that didn't really go anywhere. When he headed out back to check on the grill, only then did I notice the hushed, almost frantic voices in the kitchen. I could hear Jasper muttering something unintelligible, and Rosalie firing back. She didn't sound angry, though. Just…insistent.

I was tempted to use those few moments of myself to slip out the back door and head home, but the sudden volume of Rosalie's voice ground my plans to a halt.

"You _have_ to tell her, Jasper. If that's what you need to get over this—"

"I'll never get over this, Rose," he shot back. "It's unforgivable."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was."

"She needs you. Don't fucking fail her by throwing yourself a pity party."

I heard his fist slam the counter, even though they were both hidden from view. They probably thought I was outside, enjoying the sunshine. I almost wished I were.

_What hadn't Jasper told me?_

Before I had the chance to find out, someone's cell phone started ringing in the living room. Rosalie ran out of the kitchen, cursing all the while as she lunged over the sofa to answer it. When she finally got there, she just cursed some more, because apparently it was a wrong number.

"Sorry," she muttered to me. "That was quite the display of chaos right there."

I managed a smile. "It's okay," I said, as Emmett walked back inside. She looked up at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them.

But it was more than that.

It was hope, slipping away.

***

***


	5. Two

**A/N: **I had to give Rosalie/Emmett some angst of their own, right? I promise everything comes full circle later.

Anyway, onward. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing - I'm behind on review replies due to a big exam tomorrow on the sperm and the egg and all the insanity that follows. Just know that it means so much to me to hear your thoughts.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 5

JPOV

"_This is the dumbest, stupidest, brain-deadest thing you've ever done, Edward," I said, bunching my little fists at my side. It was a poor show of defiance, but the best I could manage. Edward just laughed as usual, and threw me a light punch to the shoulder._

"_It's not stupid," he said. "My dad said we could."_

"_No, he didn't."_

_He sighed loudly. "I thought you wanted to impress her, Jasper. This will do the trick."_

_I eyed the ugly white thing for the hundredth time, and each time it seemed to get bigger and more menacing. Sure, I wanted to give Lauren the shock of her life when I rolled up her driveway in a big fancy golf cart, but I didn't want to die trying. My ten-year-old legs didn't quite reach the pedals, and I had to sink so far down in the seat to get to them that I could barely see over the wheel._

"_Look, it's easy," he said, doing his best to reassure me. He threw his arm around me and gestured toward the cart like a seasoned used car salesman. "It's electric, so you don't have to worry about a clutch or anything."_

"_A clutch?"_

"_It's like a thing."_

_I felt my eyebrows go up. Edward shook his head and waved away his poor choice of words. "Nevermind," he said. "The point is that this is a piece of cake. You just push on the gas and sometimes the brake and you're golden. And steer sometimes, too."_

"_Are you sure your dad said this is okay?"_

_He nodded so enthusiastically I got a headache just watching him. "He bought it off Mr. Jenks for us to use. Why else would he buy it? He already has a car."_

_I didn't have an answer for that one. Maybe he had a point. "Okay," I said._

_I climbed on, fiddled with the buttons, and hit the gas—or electric, whatever—pedal with a lead foot. It lurched forward. I panicked and slammed on the brakes like my life depended on it. But Edward didn't die laughing, as I thought he would. He just grinned and nodded his approval, and that was all the encouragement I needed._

_Lauren lived all the way down the street, so Edward followed me through the woods as I drove through ten backyards to her house. It didn't occur to me that our neighbors probably didn't want tire tracks on their lawn, but hell, all I wanted that day was to impress the coolest girl in the class. It was our first date, after all. Actually, it was my first date ever._

_But as with all first dates, things went downhill fast. First, I got cocky. I revved the cart up to max speed, and got so distracted by the stunned look on Lauren's face that I didn't notice the little swamp in my path. I also didn't notice Edward yelling at me, even as he emerged from the woods at a full sprint. He was the fastest runner in the class, but it didn't matter. He couldn't keep up with my golf cart._

"_Dude, slow down!" he yelled. "There's a SWAMP!"_

_His warning hit my ears too late, as the golf cart rumbled and rolled down a slight incline, over lillies and grass and mud, until I plunged into murky water with a sobering thunk. It was a shallow pond, just a couple feet deep, but the water rushed in with a vengeance. Soaked and mud-splattered, I sloshed out of there like a miniature version of Swamp Thing. Edward and Lauren just stood there, their eyes wide with utter shock. Then I smiled, and Edward grinned, and within seconds the two of us were laughing so hard my sides hurt for days._

"_That. Was. Awesome," I said._

_We were grounded for three months, but I took that punishment with pride._

_It's the dumbest, riskiest ideas that have changed my life._

_I haven't forgotten that.  
_

_***_

It was after ten by the time Bella and I began our slow trek home. She was quiet, as usual. Maybe a little more, or maybe a little less. I couldn't really tell. But she was definitely thinking about something. She was chewing on that damn lip and I could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

"Tell me," I said, and she looked up with dark, questioning eyes.

"What?"

"I know you're thinking about something," I said. "You've been thinking all night."

"Not really," she mumbled, but the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away. Bella always blushed when she lied, no matter how minor the lie.

"Bella—"

"I think something's going on with Rosalie and Emmett," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. Deep, genuine concern colored her features. That whole declaration took me by complete surprise, so I just stood there, frozen.

"Uh, okay," I managed. "Such as?"

"I don't know," she said. "I thought maybe Rosalie was pregnant, since neither one of them was drinking—"

"Whoa," I said, holding up a hand. Every guy was trained to react to that word, and I was no exception. It was like a million red flags going up at once. Fortunately it only took me a second to remember I didn't have a wife, or a girlfriend, or even a recent sex partner, so I was in the clear.

"Is she?" Bella asked.

I opened my mouth to say something like _fuck no_, but then I realized that they were married, we weren't still in high school, and a baby for them wasn't necessarily a mistake.

"I…I don't know," I said. "She didn't tell me or anything."

Bella sighed. "Well, I don't think that's it anyway."

Now I was really confused. "Why else wouldn't they be drinking, then? You're right, I've never in my life seen Emmett eat barbecue without downing a few lukewarm beers."

"I don't know," she said, her voice quiet, thoughtful. "But I don't think it's a good thing."

It didn't add up. Rosalie and Emmett were, quite possibly, the happiest couple I'd ever met. Not just happy, though. Fucking blissful. They had a good thing going, always had. Aside from Edward and Bella, theirs was the only relationship that had endured past high school, and for good reason.

"Whatever it is, Bella, I'm sure they'll tell us if it's important."

"Would you?" she asked.

I buried my hands in my pockets and inhaled a sharp breath of the crisp September air. One thought raced across my mind—one thought I hadn't even considered because I'd only confided in one human being.

_Had she heard us? _

A part of me truly hoped she had. I wanted her to hear. I wanted her to know every detail about that night, how I'd reached over the console, how I'd taken my eyes off the road, how I'd caused the death of two people and ruined two more.

Even more than that, I wanted her to know the truth about the aftermath, about what my own suffering had become...

I didn't know what she thought about the accident, or my responsibility as the driver, or exactly how much she blamed me for her own personal nightmare. We never talked about it, and I never asked. Just being in her life again should have been enough.

But of course I was wrong. I had to tell her everything. Even if she never spoke to me again.

Then at least one of us might eventually heal.

"Bella, there was something about the accident—"

"Stop," she rasped, a shadow falling over her face, her eyes as dark and lost and desperate as I'd ever seen them. "If it's about that night, I don't want to know."

I didn't have it in me to argue with her. Not out here on the road, just minutes after her first real successful venture back into the world.

We walked the last few blocks in an uneasy silence. The wind kicked up, whipping a few strands of hair in Bella's eyes, but she hardly noticed. She was thin, far too thin, but still beautiful. And even though she always complained about her lack of coordination and awkwardness and deathly relationship with sports, Bella possessed a certain grace that was undeniable. Underneath all those layers of insecurity, she was strong. Strong as hell. Stronger than I was, that was for fucking sure.

I walked her to the front porch, just as we had done the previous week. But this time she stood there longer than I expected, her hair blowing every which way, her hands buried deep in her sweatshirt. When she spoke, the wind almost drowned her out completely.

"I've been so selfish," she said. "So…self-absorbed."

"Bella—" I started to protest.

"We're not the only one with problems, Jasper."

Although her voice faltered in the wind, her stare was hard, determined. Bella had never looked at me that way before. At Edward, maybe. They had a connection none of us had ever quite understood. This moment, this flicker of resolve in Bella's eyes, was the closest I'd ever come.

"Rose would tell you if something was wrong," I said.

"Maybe," she sighed. "But I'm barely her friend anymore. I went to college and just let it go. Ten years of friendship, just…gone. I don't even know what happened—"

I took a step onto the porch, not quite registering that I'd crossed some kind of invisible line. But she didn't say anything, didn't back away. She stood her ground, rooted there in strength and conviction, while I shook my head at so much misplaced blame.

"You moved away, Bella. We all did—"

"No," she said, her voice rising. "I failed her. And I don't know why, or how I know, but I feel like it's going to happen again if I don't do something."

"Is this about the alcohol thing?"

She shook her head once, her gaze never falling from mine. "I just know," she said.

"Then just be there for her, Bella," I said, recalling that day in Rosalie's kitchen, the day I'd made up my mind to fight for Bella's forgiveness. "If she needs you, just be the friend you always were."

"Edward kept in touch with them, you know," she said, and she took a step toward me, so close that I could hear the angry beat of her heart. "But I never did, I never made the effort…"

"You're making it now."

She looked towards the woods, a distant expression on her face. I wondered, then, what she was thinking about. I wondered if she remembered, just as I did.

"Even a kindergartener knows the value of a good friend," she sighed. "Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that."

"Kindergarteners are wise folk," I said, and a little smile touched her lips. I didn't know if we were making progress. Hell, I didn't even understand "progress." But I knew that friendships changed and evolved and did things you couldn't predict, and we were no exception to that. You just had to roll with it, for better or worse.

"I agree," she said.

"Speaking of kindergarteners…"

Her eyes narrowed a little bit, and her brow furrowed in telltale thought. It was cute, really. Bella was one of those people whose mannerisms never really changed, and for that reason she always seemed younger than she really was. More innocent, in a way. And I liked knowing that we'd been friends long enough for me to see that.

"Uh oh," she mumbled.

"Where's the list?"

She looked down at her feet, a nervous blush rising in her cheeks. "Inside," she said.

"Well, you're off the hook for now, then—"

"Do you want to come in?" Her eyes met mine, and despite every effort I made to hide the shock from my face, I knew I failed. Her home was her sanctuary, her escape. Would she regret it the second I said yes? Or worse, would she change her mind and throw me back out the door?

"Well, I mean…" I stammered.

She said nothing, and it only took two seconds for me to feel like a moron for hesitating.

"Sure," I said. "I'd love that."

***

The Swan house hadn't changed in twenty years. I hadn't noticed it until now, hadn't thought about the fact that Charlie's couch was straight out of the seventies, the walls were more than a bit faded, and the kitchen still had a rotary phone. But it was immaculate, and beloved. The two people who lived here cared about this house like a third family member, and it showed.

Bella deposited her shoes at the bottom of the stairs, and I did the same. Charlie had instilled that ritual in me years ago, after long afternoons of playing in the rain. I hadn't been in this house since two summers ago, when we all came home for a funeral. Death, it seemed, had a thing for Forks.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked. We were standing in the foyer, and her voice echoed against the empty walls. I didn't think Charlie was home. I hadn't seen his car outside, and for that I was actually grateful. The guy intimidated me, even now. Especially now, given the fact that he was the person Bella had turned to in the darkest months of her life.

"Okay," I said, because it seemed like the right answer.

She eked out a little smile and led the way to the kitchen. She sat down at the table, no doubt her usual seat, right across from mine. And then we just kind of stared at each other for a second other two, before she flew out of her chair like her ass was on fire.

"Crap," she said. "I forgot your drink. What would you like?"

"Uh, water's fine."

"Come on, Jasper," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've never in my life seen you drink water."

It was true. I hated that clear, tasteless, lukewarm mess of a liquid. This meant I'd never make it as a personal trainer or health nut, but I'd gotten over that.

"True," I conceded. "How about…cherry coke?" I said it more as a joke than anything else; for years her dad had stocked cherry coke for the sole reason that I enjoyed it. No one ever drank it but me.

"Sure," she said, her eyes brightening. And just like the old days, like the craziest kind of déjà vu you could ever imagine, she reached into the fridge and pulled one out.

"Wow," I muttered.

"You know my dad," she said. "Old habits simply don't die with him."

I smiled, recalling all the things Charlie Swan did out of habit. It was an impressive list.

"So," I said, after she'd resumed her seat at the table. She leaned forward a little bit, her elbows on the scuffed oak surface, her cheeks still pink from standing outside. She arched her eyebrow, and I continued.

"Where's the list?" I asked.

She put her face in her hands and sighed. She knew what was coming. We both did.

"Upstairs."

"In your room?"

She nodded.

I put my soda down and crossed my arms. "I'll wait."

She got up slowly, a little smirk rising on her lips as she headed for the stairs. Teasing her wasn't quite the same, and maybe it never would be, but I enjoyed the reminder. I missed it, more than she could possibly know.

A few seconds later I heard her feet pounding down the stairs again, and it took her a few seconds to catch her breath after she sat down. I looked at her, then down at the list, and shook my head in mock seriousness.

"Well, you know what this means," I said.

She leaned forward again, her eyes fixed so intently on that list I thought she'd burn the words right off the page.

"I don't know that I can," she mumbled.

"We'll start slow. Really slow."

"I'll remember…"

"Is that your only memory of being in a car?"

She looked up, her eyes dark with worry. She shook her head once, just once, but it was a significant concession. "Then think of a better one," I said.

"I was always a lousy driver," she muttered, and I felt my lips curl up in a little smile. That was true. Bella gave women drivers a very, very bad name. In fact, she almost singlehandedly contributed to the stereotype.

"Then this'll be like Driver's Ed, part two. The sequel."

She rolled her eyes and cracked a smile. "Didn't you teach me the first time around?"

"I think Edward did," I said, holding my hands up to deflect some of the blame. But she just shook her head, and smiled a little wider.

"Nope," she said. "It was you, because Edward couldn't handle the thought of me driving into a lake. But you, on the other hand, had first hand experience…"

"Shut up," I teased. "And it was a swamp, not a lake."

"Well, it scarred him for life."

"It was his fault."

Her smile changed, becoming a little sad, a little distant. "Maybe," she said. "But I'm scarred, too."

"Happy memories, remember?" I pushed the list back in her direction, where we could both see Edward's scrawled, chaotic writing and his vision of what it meant to DRIV FAST. He had drawn some kind of sports car, but it looked more like a spaceship than an actual vehicle.

She nodded, and we spent the rest of the night talking about the things that didn't scare us.

***

A week later, right after the second-to-worst physical therapy session of my miserable existence, I parked a borrowed golf cart outside Bella's house. She walked outside with a disbelieving, then amused look on her face. She smiled, not at the ridiculous golf cart, but at me.

"I should have guessed," she said.

I climbed out of the front seat, patting the hood as if it were my baby. I didn't drive these days unless I absolutely had to; I'd vowed after the accident to take the bus for the rest of my life. As much as Bella feared riding in a car, I was paralyzed by the thought of driving one. I could handle golf carts, because instead of picturing Edward crushed against the rear door, I saw him laughing like a crazy person on Lauren Mallory's lawn.

"It's safe, slow, and quiet," I said. "And ugly as hell."

"Where'd you get this?"

"Mr. Jenks had one."

"Really? I thought he closed that golf course years ago."

"He did," I said. "But he hung on to the carts."

"Huh," she mused. "Kind of like how you collect Paint-by-Numbers?"

I caught the smirk on her lips, and smirked right back. That was harsh. And yet, horribly and undeniably true. "That was for, what, a year?"

"Um, I think it was more than that, Jasper."

"God, that's humiliating," I muttered. "Now get in."

And then everything froze—the smile on her face, the easy banter between us, the promise of a new day. It was like we we'd been standing at the edge of a cliff, and one or both of us had just fallen off.

"I didn't mean…" I stammered. "I know how hard…what it means…"

She placed her hand on my arm, a subtle, silent gesture that simmered with meaning. Her fingers were warm and soft, so unlike I remembered. When we were kids, she fell so often that her palms were often covered in cuts and band-aids. But now they were smooth, flawless, the hands of a young woman rather than an accident-prone child.

And so I pulled away, not because I wanted to, but because it felt wrong. I knew she felt it, too, because her eyes snapped up to mine, and something completely unexpected passed between us.

Even though I had no reason whatsoever to think it, it felt like some corner of my brain had associated those two seconds with something else, something very strange and wrong and off-limits. I could almost picture Edward standing in the space between us, looking at her slender fingers on my arm and saying, "What the fuck, man? That's my girl right there."

But of course Edward would never say that; he never had any reason to. I'd touched Bella a hundred thousand times over the last twenty years, and this was so minor, so close to nothing at all, that I started to wonder if I'd lost my mind. And yet I couldn't shake the thought that if Edward were standing here, right now, he'd raise an eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

And Alice...what would Alice think? Would she have even noticed?

I winced at the thought, wishing I could undo it, wishing I could tell her that I loved her and missed her and it wasn't about that, it would never _be_ about that.

"What I meant was," I said, attempting to recover from such an uncomfortable moment, "you should go at your own pace."

She sighed, her eyes surveying every detail of the little white car. The moment was gone, thank God. Broken by the sound of my voice.

"I think it's just…getting in," she said.

"Would it help if I got in first?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice quiet, almost a whisper.

So I climbed in, scooting over to the passenger side. For some reason, I thought the driver's side might be easier for her. Maybe she'd feel more in control, unlike she had that night. I shut my eyes hard for a second and tried to push that thought away. If I thought about it now, if I let myself remember it, I'd happily drive this stupid cart into a full-blown lake and finish myself off.

Nothing happened at first. She just stood there, eyeing that seat as if it were a million miles away. I said nothing, because words wouldn't help her now. This was her cross to bear, at least for today.

"Okay," she said, after what felt like hours. I didn't mind, though. I'd sit here all week if that's what it took. Patience was one thing I kind of understood.

She took a step forward, her teeth digging so hard into her bottom lip that I could see the skin breaking. It was shaking, too, and I could tell she was forcing back tears, willing them not to fall.

As soon as she put one hand on the steering wheel, though, she faltered. She stumbled backwards, falling on the slick wet grass as she tried to get away. I jumped out of the seat and dropped to her side, angry at myself and scared for her. I thought I knew when to push her and when to back off, but apparently I didn't have a single fucking clue. Her lip was bleeding and her cheeks were wet, and she had defeat written all over her face.

"Bella, I'm so sorry—"

"No," she sobbed, wrenching her arm away from me as I reached out for her. I wasn't sure if I was trying to hug her, or help her up, or just comfort her, but whatever it was, she didn't want it.

She stood up, her brown eyes smoldering with fierce resolve. Again she took in the sight of that old cart, and again she studied that seat as if it were the Holy Grail. And again she tried to grip the steering wheel to climb in, and again she stumbled back.

"Fuck!" she swore, as she wiped off her hands and tried again. I'd gotten back into the cart at this point, because I thought it might help her somehow. Not to mention the fact that she sure as hell didn't want me helping her on the ground.

After an hour of this, something in me snapped—or woke up—and I reached my hand out as she reached in. She hovered there for a few seconds, her hand suspended between me and the steering wheel. Her eyes were a weary, bloodshot red, but they shone with renewed determination. And then she took my hand instead of that damn steering wheel, and I pulled her in.

We never actually drove that day, and Bella never really stopped crying. We sat in that golf cart for the rest of the afternoon, Bella's head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist. Even though my back hurt like hell, I never dreamed of letting her go. For the first time in a long while, I was doing something right. It felt right. It felt like _progress_.

And yet no matter how hard I tried to push it away, one word kept floating to the forefront of my brain. It was there for a reason, even if I didn't understand it.

Betrayal.

***

***


	6. Three

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! As always, your reviews make my day - I really don't know how else to say it other than that they do. It's been a long week, so thank you for a much-needed boost!

I know there's a fine line between reassuring readers and giving away endings, but I promise you this story will stick to its theme. I wouldn't just throw angst at you for no reason, that would be mean.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 6

**BPOV**

_My fifth grade teacher, Mr. Saliander (Mr. Salamander behind his back), had a thing for rodents. He kept a few cages on the windowsill, and those stupid hamster wheels would turn and turn and turn all day long. Only when Edward and Jasper rigged the wheels did I finally find some peace._

_But as much as I detested hamsters, Edward and Jasper saw in them a very real opportunity to make money. Well, pet-sitting isn't exactly a lucrative business, but they had grand plans. The Pet Palace, they had called it. Then The Pet Spa. Then finally The Pet People, because that was the least cheesy of the bunch._

_I don't know who got the idea first, but it wasn't long before they roped me into it. We consulted Mr. Saliander first, who completely shot down the idea of paying us to watch his hamsters. That was, like, a duty or something. People signed up for that "privilege." I avoided it at all costs, until Edward and Jasper got their little business going. Then they needed me._

"_Come on, Bella," Edward said. "You have, you know, soft hands and all."_

_I arched an eyebrow. "Soft hands?"_

_His ears turned a bright, giveaway red, which made Jasper roll his eyes and laugh. I didn't quite get it. Apparently boys had secrets, too._

"_For the animals," Edward said. "People like their pet sitters to be gentle. And you're good with babies, so that's kind of the same thing."_

"_I don't think it's the same thing," I said. _

"_Yeah," he muttered, thinking that over._

"_And anyway," I continued, "I know I'm not the only one here who can hold a hamster."_

_Jasper shook his head, still laughing. "Sorry, Bellie. We don't have magical hands like you do."_

"_Shut up," Edward muttered, shoving him in the arm. He turned back to me, a pleading look in his green eyes. "We could really use your help, Bella. People won't really trust us as much as they trust you."_

_I crossed my arms over my chest with a loud huff. "I don't even like hamsters."_

"_Well, we'll build up from there. Maybe even dogs and cats and stuff."_

_I narrowed my eyes at that. There was no way Charlie would permit someone else's dog to stay in our household for any period of time._

"_What's my job then, Mr. Soft Hands?" Jasper asked._

_Edward ignored that comment and launched into his business plan, explaining, "You're good with math and numbers. And you draw the best pictures so you can do all the advertising. You're like the business genius."_

"_And you're going to sweet talk people into this?" Jasper asked._

_He shrugged. "I'll do my best."_

"_Just turn on the charm," Jasper said with a smirk. "Right, Bella?"_

_I glanced at Edward, who looked just as clueless as I felt. "What?" I asked._

"_Never mind," Jasper said, still smirking. "You guys are so dim."_

_It took another few years for me to realize what Jasper meant that day, and it wasn't that he was especially intuitive or anything—he just knew us the way best friends do. At eleven, I didn't know the first thing about boys or crushes or even how to kiss, but that was the first day I kind of thought about it. _

_The hamsters, though, I never got used to. But it was my first real job, and Edward's, and Jasper's. And that's something that sticks with you, maybe forever._

_***_

October dawned crisp and cool. The days grew shorter, the nights cooler, and I welcomed the coming of fall. Even the seasons had a way of attaching themselves to certain memories, and the cooler weather reminded me of only good things. It wasn't hard to leave those summer days behind.

I rarely ventured outside my house except for my twice-daily walks, but I talked to Jasper, Rosalie, and sometimes Emmett on the phone. Jasper left that golf cart in my back yard, and I'd sit in there sometimes when I felt up to it. I never drove it, of course. It's never a good idea to drive anything when you're too hysterical to think.

I looked at Edward's list every morning and every night before going to bed. I'd memorized every detail—the awkward block letters, the random assortment of pictures, the faded crayon. Sometimes I looked at my lists, too, but they were so very different from Edward's. My adult list was, in so many ways, the most depressing thing I'd ever seen.

When I studied those lists, I thought about Edward. That was a given, and it took me a while to do it without going to pieces. Now it was more of a dull ache, a longing that no amount of time or healing would ever completely fix. But instead of wishing it away, I just gave into it. I figured there had to be a reason for grief, as relentless as it sometimes felt.

Jasper had more or less dictated the last item on the list, so I knew this one was my turn. I made the decision on a Tuesday, a grim, sunless day in mid-October, to target Number Three. Numbers One and Two were still a work in progress, but I had to start Number Three at some point. So I tucked the list under my arm and headed out my front door, and walked all the way downtown.

It took me a good thirty minutes to get to my destination: the ugliest building in Forks. Its white walls, white windows, and a white, peeling sign reminded me more of a mental institution than a standard hospital. Everyone who walked in and out of the place looked miserable. The only happy people in there were the ones having babies.

I sat on the bench outside and waited for Jasper to come out. I knew his schedule. He did physical therapy four days a week and went to the gym the other three. He didn't look like a person in pain, but I knew better. He'd broken two vertebrae in the accident, among other things. That was all he ever said about it, though. I didn't even ask about the therapy, the drugs, or the pain, because a part of me didn't want to know. Another part of me knew, and couldn't handle thinking about it.

At precisely one o'clock, he emerged from the hospital front doors, looking like he had just aged fifty years. He was hunched over, limping, drenched in sweat. He looked like a person on the verge of collapse.

I flew off the bench and ran over to him, stopping short when I saw the look on his face. His blue eyes were cold, his jaw set in a stern, hard line. "I'm sorry—" I croaked.

"No, Bella," he said. "Don't go."

His expression softened, but his whole body seemed to stiffen as he walked over to me. It must have taken an incredible amount of effort to summon it, but he took each stride with gritty, unwavering determination. He never so much as winced.

"You look…" I started, regretting it immediately.

"Like hell?" he said, managing a weak smile. "Psychos live in that building, Bella. Seriously."

I smiled, grateful for the sense of humor that had always come so easily to him. "Do they torture you?"

He nodded. "Like you wouldn't believe."

He didn't say anything after that; I knew what he was waiting for. I looked down at the list, and he looked at me.

"I need a job," I said.

"You have one."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"At the school," he said. "You should take it, Bella. You were always great with kids."

As an only child, I can say that my sole experience with kids was the occasional run-in with somebody else's siblings. Babies usually howled in my arms, and children ran in the other direction. Then again, maybe I'd been the one doing the running.

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I could think about it."

He nodded, said nothing. Jasper hadn't pushed me very much since that day in the golf cart, nor had he initiated anything. We'd spent hours talking in my kitchen that night, and only when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the trees did we realize how late it was. It seemed a little strange, maybe, that we hadn't hung out at all since then. I just didn't know whose fault it was.

"What about you?" I asked.

A wistful smile found its way to his face. "I'm happily unemployed," he said.

"Really?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, it's hard to hold a job with this schedule." He glanced toward the hospital, which looked more like a prison than it had before.

"What do your parents say?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not much."

I knew that wasn't the truth, but I didn't say anything. Jasper had given up a fantastic job, an exciting new city, a whole new life to return to Forks. And for what? I still didn't understand. Like so many other things in his life, he never talked about it.

"Well, it's on the list," I said, smirking as I handed him the worn construction paper.

"A GOD JOB," he read, chuckling at the familiar pictures and consistent misspellings. "Looks like his idea of a good job is having an eye patch and a white coat."

"A pirate with a medical degree?" I suggested.

He smiled. "Maybe."

"Your dad's a doctor."

His gaze fell to the ground, his mussed blond hair falling over his eyes. "True," he said. "So was Edward's."

"You never wanted to be like your dad?"

"I don't know," he said. "I didn't operate well under parental pressure."

There was no real answer for that, so I said nothing. I had always liked Jasper's parents, but they were city-folk, East Coasters, a little out of place here in Forks. They were friendly and polite, but they expected certain things of their children. Whereas Jasper's older sisters had gone on to law school and med school and some other school, Jasper hadn't even considered a professional degree. That, I knew, hadn't gone over too well with his father.

"You could do anything, Jasper. You'd be good at anything you tried."

"Shit," he said, a light laughter in his voice. "Was I fishing for compliments again?"

I rolled my eyes. "You don't fish enough."

"Really?" He lifted an eyebrow, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Come on, Jasper. You know I think the world of you."

He sighed, and I knew by the look on his face he didn't believe it. He managed a smile anyway, and we walked the next few blocks in silence.

"So no job for you, then?" I asked.

"I didn't say that. I mean, I'm just, you know…thinking about things."

"What were you going to do in Chicago?"

He shrugged. "Something in finance," he said. "Thought it sounded interesting."

"What kind of finance?"

"Something with the UC Hospital system and insurance, boring stuff."

"I see," I mused, and it only took him a second or two to catch on.

"I'm not interested in medicine," he insisted.

"Well, that's obvious," I said, and he smiled at the sarcasm.

"I almost failed chemistry, anyway. Remember? I never quite grasped the concept of the periodic table."

"Uh huh. Excuses, excuses."

"Okay, Life Coach," he said, stopping mid-stride. "What do you suggest I do?"

He was grinning now, warm and teasing. I shook my head and looked down the road, savoring the ease of our conversation. I wanted to tell him so, but thought better of it.

"Isn't there a hospice program? You could volunteer, at least. Or maybe do some office work for them. I bet they'd love it if you reworked their whole business model—you're so good at that stuff."

"Hospice?" he asked. "That's so…"

"Depressing?"

"No," he said. "I was going to say rewarding."

I nodded. A year ago, I'd have said depressing. Now, I didn't think about death quite the same way. If Edward had died of cancer instead of multiple internal injuries, I might have had a chance to say good-bye.

"Good," I said. "Then that's settled. Let's call them."

He stared at me with a panicked look on his face. "Now?"

I smiled. "It just so happens I have the number."

***

After handing the phone to Jasper, I called Mrs. Denali. The next morning, I showed up in her classroom just as terrified as I must have looked seventeen years earlier. She only had twelve kids in her class, but each one was a handful. They threw stuff, ate stuff, broke stuff. Of course, I'd done the same thing at one point in my life. Mrs. Denali never had a problem reminding me, either.

I adjusted slowly at first. Charlie loved the idea of my finding a job and sticking to it, although he tried not to show it. We'd have our breakfast as usual, he'd mutter a few words about having a good day, and that was it. But I could see the hope in his eyes, the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd one day get back to normal.

Normalcy wasn't my goal, but it was something to aspire to. Change never came easily to me, and it took me two months to settle into a new routine. Jasper sometimes met me for lunch or walked me home from school. Even Rosalie and Emmett would have me over for dinner occasionally, and since their house was right on my way, I often stopped just to say hello. They had jobs, but they always made time to see me.

I thought I might change my mind that something was wrong, but those instincts never faded. Emmett and Rosalie were happy—happier than I'd ever seen them, even in high school. But as I saw them more and more often, at times when their guard was down, I could almost hear the tension buzzing in the room. It was subtle, but definitely there.

I never had any intention of asking about it, but sometimes plans go awry. It happened on a Friday afternoon, right after work, as I was walking home. Emmett passed me on the road in his rust-encrusted jeep, at which point he screeched to a halt.

"Bella!" he thundered. "I almost fucking pancaked you back there."

"Yeah, you just missed me," I laughed, enjoying the telltale gleam in his eyes.

"You want a ride?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, I'll walk, it's okay."

He understood my issues, but Emmett was the type to ask anyway. He killed the engine and leaned out the window, revealing the guy beside him.

"You remember Mike?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, breaking into a wary smile. "Of course I do."

Mike Newton was the most popular guy in his class, but he was also—contrary to the raging stereotype—a nice guy. He and Emmett had been in the same class, a year ahead of me. They were still friends, and according to what Rose and Emmett told me, Mike was on the prowl.

"Hey, Bella," he said. "Haven't seen you in years. How was college?"

"Good," I mumbled. I hoped he wouldn't ask me about college. I just didn't have it in me to talk about it, not right now.

"This smarty here got into UW for grad school," Emmett said proudly, jutting his thumb in my direction. "We're trying to talk her into actually going."

"Wow," Mike said. "That's great, Bella. Really."

I managed a more convincing smile. "Thanks."

"Hey, did you see Jasper yesterday?" Emmett asked. "He looked like a ghost at the hospital this afternoon."

I could only imagine the look on my face that made his smile disappear. Emmett McCarty avoided two places in this world: hospitals and farmer's markets. I didn't understand the aversion to farmer's markets, but Emmett had always said it had something to do with frou-frou fruit.

"At the hospital?" I asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "I, uh, had to run an errand over there."

The confused look on Mike's face reflected my own. Even though they worked together, he clearly didn't know anything about Emmett's hospital run.

"Oh," I said, sensing he didn't want to talk about it. Not with Mike Newton around, at least. I had a feeling, though, that Emmett would come clean with me the first chance he got. I could see it written all over his face.

"Anyway, yeah," Emmett said. "You should call him. He didn't look good."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks for the heads-up."

As soon as I glimpsed my house, though, I knew I wouldn't get the chance.

Jasper was standing on my front porch, looking every bit as broken as I'd ever seen him.

***

***


	7. Four

**A/N: **I know I do a lot of thanking, but really, thank you all for reading this little story of mine. I love hearing from every one of you, even if it's just a few words. School insanity is making it hard for me to respond to reviews, but I do read them and truly appreciate the feedback.

I'd also like to thank **TMC** for her input on this chapter. Actually she gave me permission to go ahead and do what I'm about to do. She is wise and I'm just a softie.

On a more technical note, I'm not a doctor but I tried to research the subject matter that follows to the best of my ability. I apologize for any inaccuracies. Ditto for insurance policies in WA state.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight or its characters.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 7

**JPOV**

_My first day of high school was quite possibly the most underwhelming experience of my life. I walked through those doors thinking I was The Shit, and left feeling like I was worth less than the quarterback's jock strap. And in many ways, I was. The quarterback was Emmett, and that guy had his own personal fan club._

_That morning, though, was memorable. It was a warm day in September, rainy but pleasant. My older sister had agreed to take me, Edward, and Bella to school, although she wasn't happy about it. We all just decided that no matter what, the bus didn't cut it anymore._

_Edward was in his usual good mood, but Bella looked frazzled. She didn't like new situations, and she didn't know any upperclassmen. Rumor had it, though, that Emmett had a thing for Rosalie. Bella and Rosalie were pretty close, so in the world of high school politics, Bella had an in._

_But that didn't matter to Bella. She chewed on her bottom lip and pulled down her sleeves of her sweater, two of her default nervous habits. The further we drove into town, the deeper she retreated into one of her silent panic modes._

"_Are you okay?" I asked, nudging her in the shoulder. Edward was sitting up front (my sister refused to be seen with me), so the two of us shared the back. _

_Bella looked over at me, her eyes a brilliant, smoldering brown. According to Wikipedia, brown was the most common color for eyes, but you would never believe that if you knew Bella Swan. Her eyes weren't just brown. They were a rich, dark chocolate that reached straight down to her soul.  
_

"_Not really," she whispered. It sounded like she didn't want Edward to hear her, although I had no idea why. They didn't have any secrets, far as I could tell. Well, aside from the fact that they were both in denial. _

"_What are you worried about?"_

"_Just things," she said._

"_What kinds of things?"_

_She shrugged. "Look at me, Jasper. I'm not the best dressed, and it's clear I don't have a lot of money like some of these people. I'm just a target for ridicule."_

"_You look fine to me, Bella. In fact I think you look great."_

_She managed a small smile. "Thanks."_

"_Look, who cares what they think, anyway? So what that Jessica Stanley drives her mom's Mercedes? The only reason she got that anyway is because her mom sued the Ice Cream Truck company for running over her foot."_

_"Really?"_

"_Damn right," I said. Well, I knew she had sued somebody, but the details didn't matter. _

"_I'm not…I'm not ashamed of my dad or anything," she said. "We're just, you know, not flush with cash."_

"_Well, that doesn't matter to anyone who matters."_

"_Um…"_

"_Did that make sense?"_

_She smiled. "Yeah, it did. Thanks."_

"_Is that all you're worried about?"_

"_Well, no," she mumbled._

"_What, then?"_

_She looked up front, panic flashing in her eyes. Edward was fiddling with the radio, charming my sister as usual. She had a secret crush on him, but it was hardly a secret because he knew about it. Did she really think I didn't eavesdrop on her epic and utterly pointless phone conversations?_

"_Well, there's this really pretty girl in the sophomore class…" she began._

"_Uh huh…"_

"_Who, well, I hear…I hear…."_

"_Spit it out, Bella."_

_She leaned in closer, her long hair tickling my neck. "I hear she has a crush on Edward."_

"_Everyone has a crush on Edward." I started to laugh, but stopped dead at the look on her face. She reminded me of someone who had just taken a swift kick to the gut._

"_Shit," I said. "I didn't mean that. I mean, some girls do like Edward, they think he's funny and cool or whatever—"_

"_Ugh," she muttered, burying her face in her hands. Edward was blasting some Van Morrison, so I knew he couldn't hear us._

"_But Bella," I said, taking her by the shoulders so she'd look into my eyes and see the truth. "He only has eyes for one girl."_

"_Who?"_

_I smiled, and so did she._

_***_

"Hi," I said, because it was all I could muster. Bella's eyes were wide with shock, fear, confusion…all sorts of things I should have expected but hadn't really thought about. I hadn't even decided what to tell her. Actually, I had no idea what the hell I was even doing here.

She just stood there, taking in every detail of my wrecked state. I knew I looked like a walking nightmare. I felt like it, too.

"Come on," she finally managed, leading the way inside. I didn't have it in me to protest, so I followed her over the threshold into an empty house.

"Sit," she said, gesturing toward the couch. Her voice was shaky, her hands trembling just the slightest bit as she retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Her eyes widened. "You show up on my step looking like you got hit by a truck, and you apologize? Jasper, what _happened_ to you?"

I shook my head. Edward would've told her the truth. He'd have started from the beginning, probably even before the beginning, but I couldn't do that.

I wasn't Edward and I wasn't fucking strong enough.

"I turned twenty-three," I said. That part was true. I could give her half the story, at least.

Her eyebrow crinkled with confusion. "I know," she said. "So…?"

"So I'm off my parents' insurance."

It took a few seconds for her blank expression to change. "And now you can't go to the doctor?"

I sighed, took a slow sip of water. I wasn't thirsty. In fact, I felt nauseated. But I forced it down because drinking was easier than talking.

"I have to pay for everything out-of-pocket," I said. "And I can't afford it."

"Everything?"

"Physical therapy, appointments with various doctors," I said, swallowing hard. "Prescriptions, too."

A shadow of worry dawned on her face. I looked away. What kind of a person was I for dumping this on Bella, of all people? Why not Emmett, why not Rosalie?

I didn't know and I didn't have it in me to figure it out.

"What about from the state?" she asked.

"It's expensive."

"But you could apply—"

"Not with a broken back, Bella. That's an insurance company's worst nightmare."

She leaned back into the plush cushions of the couch. "Your parents?"

I shook my head. "My dad wants me to get a job."

"But you have a job."

"It's not good enough, Bella. I can't get insurance unless I work full-time, and they aren't hiring…"

"Well, they can't just leave you hanging like this," she said, her voice grim with determination. "That's inhumane."

I tried to stand up, wincing at the shooting pains in my back. My head was splintering, too, and I realized I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

"Just…don't move," she said. "I'm calling the doctor."

"No, don't. My dad—"

"Not your dad," she said. "The other doctor."

***

I didn't think Bella had spoken to Carlisle or Esme Cullen since the accident, but I was wrong. Esme Cullen had seen Bella at least once a week since she moved home, sometimes more. Bella knew her, trusted her, maybe even more now that Edward was gone.

It didn't really surprise me that Esme thought of Bella more as her daughter than her only son's girlfriend. But I had, for the most part, avoided the Cullens since moving home. I couldn't stand the look on Esme's face when she looked at me and thought of Edward. I really hoped Bella wouldn't make me go over there today.

Bella used the phone in the kitchen, so I didn't catch all of their conversation. But when she hung up, her expression had softened and the crease between her brow had all but disappeared.

"Dr. Cullen can help you," she said. "For the time being, at least."

I knew what that meant. Filling prescriptions. I buried my face in my hands and tried not to throw up all over myself. I really wanted to, though. If I could just purge myself of so many weaknesses, so much guilt…if I could just turn myself inside out and maybe start over.

Sadly, I had run out of that kind of strength a long time ago. I just didn't possess it anymore. It's like you have a purpose, a meaning in life, and then one day it's just gone. I didn't think I even had that anymore. Bella didn't need me, she'd probably never even forgive me, she'd one day realize that I deserved nothing but punishment for what I'd done…

"Okay," I sighed, sickened by the concession.

"I wish…I wish I could drive you over there," she said.

"It's okay, I can walk…"

"No," she said, her voice so firm it made me draw my eyes up to meet hers. "It's about time I got over myself anyway."

"Bella—"

"Come on," she said.

I nodded once, rising to my feet. She reached her arm around my waist to steady me, but I shook her off. It shouldn't be like this. It was never supposed to be like this.

After what felt like hours, we made it out the front door to the side of the lawn. The old golf cart was resting in its usual spot, its roof leaking from an earlier day's rain. I climbed into the driver's seat, but this time, it was she who pushed me away.

"Just enjoy the ride," she said, mustering an attempt at humor. I could hear the tension in her voice, the way she spoke through a forced smile. But she was trying. God, she was trying. It took her a few seconds to push that little black button, but when she did, every muscle in her tense little body seemed to relax.

The cart lurched forward, but after that we settled into a smooth ride down her familiar street. I could only imagine what Emmett would say if he saw this, so I hoped he wouldn't come out here and bust my balls for riding shotgun in a golf cart. But the shame I endured paled in comparison to the pride I felt for Bella. I knew how monumental this was for her. I knew, but I couldn't say the words.

"He's in clinic today," she said. "He said he could see you right away."

"I can just wait until the end of the day—"

"No way," she scolded, stealing a glance at me as she concentrated on the road. It was a back road, and thankfully empty. I didn't want to find out what Bella would do if someone started honking at us.

"I shouldn't have come," I said. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

"For disrupting my Friday afternoon plans?" she said, a little smile playing on her lips. "God forbid I should miss my mid-afternoon stroll around the yard."

"Well, it's an important stroll," I said, managing a smirk of my own.

She shifted a bit in her seat, her tone changing. "Jasper, are you getting better? I mean, with your back and everything?"

I let my gaze settle on the endless expanse of woods, thinking my silence might be enough to change the subject. But it wasn't, not this time. This time Bella was the one pushing me.

"It's slow-going," I muttered.

"You never said…how badly hurt you were…" she trailed off.

"I broke my back."

She said nothing. She knew there was more to it than that.

"And that never gets better?" she asked.

I shrugged. "There's some permanent nerve damage," I said. "I mean, I don't really know all the technical stuff."

"Charlie told me you could have died," she said. Apparently my parents had a thing for discussing my medical problems with other people.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, dismissing the thought. Could have died. Should have died…these thoughts just led to others which led to more guilt and my wishing for the hundred millionth time I could simply trade my fate for Edward's or Alice's.

I couldn't tell Bella that, but I wanted to. I really fucking wanted to, every single day.

"I wasn't hurt at all," she said. "Ironic, huh?" Her voice was wistful, almost bitter. It didn't make sense that she should feel any sense of guilt whatsoever for surviving. She wasn't the one driving, she wasn't the one who killed two people because she'd reached over the console for a cell phone.

"No," I muttered.

She looked over at me. "No?"

"It's not ironic, Bella. None of it's ironic. It's just life and it's unfair and the fact that you survived is the only good thing that happened that night."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't say anything. She didn't argue, or fight it. She didn't make the obvious reply because she probably didn't believe it herself.

"Two people survived that night," she said. She stopped the cart, turning to me with a renewed fire in her eyes. "I need you, Jasper."

_I need you_, I thought. She had no idea how desperately I needed her, like a drowning victim needs air. Maybe more.

She placed her hand on mine, her fingers warm and soft against my cold, clammy skin. And for that instant, that one breath of time, every trace of pain in my body simply vanished. So I did the totally irrational thing and pulled my hand back.

"You don't, Bella," I said. "I'm not strong like you. I never was…"

"Bullshit," she said, her gaze never wavering from mine. "You're why I'm driving this goofy thing."

I shook my head. "You're why you're driving it."

"Is this what Rosalie was talking about when she mentioned your pity party?"

My whole body tensed at the reference to my earlier conversation with Rosalie. I hadn't thought she'd heard. If I'd known, if I'd had any indication…fuck.

"No," I said, because my pity party had only a little bit to do with this, and a lot to do with something else.

"Then what was it?"

I looked into her eyes, knowing I couldn't lie to her. But I couldn't tell her, either. So I said nothing, keeping my gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

"Why won't you tell me?" she asked.

"I will," I said. "I will, Bella. I promise you."

"Jasper…" she said, her voice dying in the wind. "Do you trust me?"

I sighed, debating with myself if I should just tell her now, and be done with it. She'd hate me forever, would probably throw me out of this golf cart and on to the road, but at least I'd be free of it.

And in thinking that, I realized just how selfish that act would be. You don't go around telling people things just to make yourself feel better. You deal with it. And I hadn't yet figured out how to do that.

"Are you afraid of telling me?" she asked.

I looked away, back toward the trees. The wind drowned out my voice, reduced it to nothing but a quiet exhale, but I said it anyway.

"I'm afraid of losing you."

***

Carlisle Cullen took one look at me and knew the full story. He could see it written all over my face, like words on a page. The profuse sweating was probably also a dead giveaway, at least to a guy with an M.D.

"You should have told someone," he said.

I straightened up in my seat, groaning at the pain. "I'm telling you."

"By choice?"

I stared at him, silently transmitting my answer. He expected it, of course. Addicts never really had a choice, did they?

"I can see you're in physical pain, Jasper," he said. "I'm not questioning that."

"I can't live like this," I said, rasping the words as I tried to breathe through gritted teeth.

"How much Vicodin were you taking?"

I shrugged. "Too much."

He took a seat beside me, which made me feel more like a friend—or even a son—than a patient. Carlisle Cullen was a kind, compassionate doctor, quite the contrast to my dad's brusque, businesslike approach toward everything. I could see the understanding in his warm blue eyes, and even something that small and indefinable made me feel better.

"The withdrawal symptoms will go away eventually," he said. "But I can't say the same for your back pain."

"I can't handle either."

He sighed. "It's better to go off the Vicodin slowly. Bella said your insurance ran out?"

"Yeah, guess I should move to Canada," I said, forcing a weak smile.

He shook his head, his mind ticking with the lecture I knew I was about to get. But instead he just pulled a pad of paper from his pocket, and scribbled something down.

"This is serious, Jasper. You could end up in the ICU for this." He handed me the piece of paper. "I'm doing this because I trust you."

I looked down, a little surprised to see my drug of choice sprawled on the scrip sheet. "I don't want to prescribe you another painkiller before I talk to your orthopedist."

I snorted. "That guy is so unavailable."

"Not surprising," Carlisle muttered. Clearly we shared the same view on hot-headed surgeons. "In any case, this prescription won't get you very far unless you take it in small doses. Try to wean yourself off it, and in the meantime I'll figure out another pain management option for you."

"Like what?" I asked, looking up. I knew worry when I saw it, and there was quite a bit of it etched in Carlisle's features.

"I'll work on it," he said. "But the longer this goes on, the worse off you'll be."

He must have thought I was the worst cliché in the book, falling into an addiction to pain-killers like this.

"Dr. Cullen," I said, turning the piece of paper in my fingers. It didn't seem right, all of a sudden, to call him Carlisle. This man was, for all intents and purposes, saving my life.

He said nothing, just waited for me to continue.

"I can't live like this…forever."

"There are more doctors in Seattle," he said. "I could recommended an orthopedist there—"

"No!" I croaked, and his eyes widened at my sudden outburst. "I can't…I can't leave Forks."

"Why not?"

_Because I'm not finished here…_

_Because I can't…_

_Because I need this place, I need to remember, I need her…_

"Because I'm broke," I said, which was also true, but nowhere near the main reason for my staying here. "I need insurance before I can go anywhere."

"Have you talked to your parents?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. If my father found out about this, he'd hook me up to an IV in some methadone clinic, that was for fucking sure.

"Look, Jasper," he said. "Your parents would understand. After all you've been through, it's understandable—"

"Fuck understandable," I said, crying out as I stood up and stumbled backwards. He reached out for me, but I shook him off. "This wouldn't have happened to Edward."

I regretted the words as soon as I said them. A flash of sheer pain rose in his face, lingered there for a few terrible seconds, then faded away. He walked to the window and gazed outside, and with nothing left to confess, neither of us said anything.

"Everyone deals with death a little differently," he said, finally, turning back around to face me. "And there's no shame in that."

I dropped my chin to my chest, stared at the floor. I needed to get a grip on my life, and I needed to do it soon.

"The hospice program speaks very highly of you," he said. "I can get them to hire you full time, which would provide you with insurance."

My eyes widened. What the hell had I done to deserve this?

"But," he said, and the way he said it sure sounded like an impending ultimatum. "I want to monitor your opiate use. And I also want you to see my colleague in Seattle, the orthopedist."

"Dr. Cullen—"

"I'm not legally allowed to inform your parents," he said. "So if that's what's worrying you, it's a non-issue."

"This is a small town," I reminded him.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "Well, my office is airtight," he said.

I managed a small nod. "Thanks."

In that moment, it almost seemed as though Carlisle Cullen wanted to thank me. For what, I could never guess. Edward had spent his final moments in my back seat, and that enough was reason for this man to hate me.

But it wasn't hate I saw in his eyes as I stood up to leave. It was more like hope.

***

Bella was waiting for me in the tiny waiting room, and her face broke into a relieved smile as I walked out the door. I still felt like shit, but at least I had something to go on.

We stopped at the pharmacy first, then the diner on the way home. Bella didn't eat; she never did, unless she'd cooked it herself. It was another part of her routine, another reliance on something safe and unemotional. But I was starving and cranky and weak as all hell, so I went ahead and ordered five different things for myself from the menu. After five minutes of shoveling greasy food down my throat, I started to feel human again.

"Stellar manners as usual," she smirked.

"Yeah, well, I'm better on a date, I swear."

She glanced down at her empty place setting, her expression softening. "That's what Alice always said."

My stomach tightened at the sound of her name, but unlike those first few months of sudden, agonizing recall, I actually smiled at the memory. "Yeah," I said. "She whipped me into shape."

"Mmhm," she mused, smiling widely now. "I'd say 'whipped' is the right word."

Hell, that was true. There was no use denying it. "I wonder what her list would've looked like."

She seemed to think about that for a second, then replied, "I don't know, but they both accomplished Number Four on Edward's list."

"True," I said, recalling the dark green GO COLLEG scrawled on the white construction paper. Edward had drawn his version of a cap and gown on another stick figure, but it looked more like the grim reaper than a college grad. "Well, actually, I was thinking about that one today."

I looked over at Bella, could see her brain working a mile a minute. "Oh yeah?" she asked.

"Well, I was thinking about the whole insurance thing, and I was thinking about our first day of high school."

"Okay..."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the cracked tabletop. Bella was sitting across from me, and she leaned in, too, a curious look on her face. "I know, they don't seem related," I said.

"They really don't."

"Do you remember that day?"

She thought about it for a second, recalling that same memory I'd thought about several times over the past few weeks. I had never seen Bella so nervous. Between the money thing, and the insecurity thing, and the dating thing, she'd been a wreck.

"I remember," she said.

"Well, I was thinking about how back then you worried about money, and today I was worried about money, and there are a lot of people out there who worry about money." I stopped, took a deep breath. "I'm rambling."

"Sort of," she agreed, but there was a smile in her voice.

"Anyway," I said. "I thought maybe, you know, we could try and start a scholarship for Edward and Alice. I mean, in their memory…or however that works."

"Oh," she said, failing to hide her surprise.

I knew it sounded like a very ambitious venture, one that would probably involve a lot of networking and money-raising and other things I knew nothing about. But I could try. This was something we could do for the both of them, to remember them, to honor them. It was harder, in some ways, to do that for Alice, since she wasn't from Forks and all of our memories were tied to a place a thousand miles away. I couldn't do anything about that, but I could make sure that someone, somewhere, thought about her everyday, just as I did. I liked the thought of someone going to college because of Alice, even if that person would never have the privilege of knowing her.

"It was just an idea," I said, my voice falling when Bella didn't respond.

"We should do it," she said, and all at once, her face lit up.

"Really?" I asked.

She looked up at me with those big brown eyes, her hair falling every which way. I raked my hand through my own hair, realizing how ridiculous it must have looked. After an afternoon in that golf cart, we were both looking a little windblown. On Bella, it looked good. On me, it looked…well, probably frightening.

"Yes," she said. "Really."

"Okay," I said, grinning at her enthusiasm.

"Jasper?"

"Yeah?"

"She won't ever be forgotten, you know. You don't have to worry about that."

I nodded, remembering those scattered images of Alice and college and finding her in the most unexpected place, at the most unexpected time. Then it happened and I knew, I knew right away, that I'd finally found something in my life that made perfect sense. And it was because of that sudden, all-consuming realization that I tried to remember her, and I tried to forget. If I thought too long about it, I could almost picture her peeking her head through my door, rolling her eyes at my reluctance to get out of bed. With her, I never rushed to do anything. With her, I was content to just be.

"Jasper..."

"It's okay," I said, my eyes finding hers again. "My mind's just wandering."

"That's allowed."

I managed a small, but knowing smile. "Yeah."

"Do you want to work on Alice's scholarship, and I can work on Edward's?" she asked.

"Well, I don't really know where to start, but sure." Although I knew a place. I knew a few places, including a family that lived in Chicago and missed their only daughter.

Bella nodded, and without a word or a glance or any acknowledgment whatsoever, she finished off the remains of my chocolate cake.

***

It was dark by the time we got to my house, and judging by the looks of the empty driveway, no one was home. I had trouble keeping track of my parents' schedule, and there were days when I didn't see them at all. For all I knew, they'd flown out of town for the weekend.

Bella parked the golf cart like a pro and watched while I maneuvered my way out of the seat. I owed her a thousand thank-yous for this, but the concept was so overwhelming I didn't know where to start.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked, before my brain could process the words coming out of my mouth. Apparently I'd just skipped the whole "thank you" thing and went straight for an invitation. And to do what? It was late and I was sure she wanted to get home; Bella never came over here, and she never expressed any desire to do so.

"Um," she said, looking down at her nails.

"I mean, sorry. I just…shit. You can say no. I just wanted to thank you for today."

She looked up again, a soft smile on her face. Now that the sun had set, she shivered in the cool air.

"Maybe just for a bit?" she suggested.

"Sure," I said, trying to conceal my surprise. She followed me inside, watching my steps as I went. I felt better, though. The nausea was gone and the sharp, shooting pains in my back had returned to the dull ache I was used to.

"Where are your parents?" she asked.

I shrugged. "No idea."

"They didn't tell you where they were going?"

I gave her a wry smile. "I'm sure they did, but I can't say I was paying attention."

"Really? They didn't, like…" she blushed, no doubt realizing how this sounded.

"Don't worry, Bella," I said. "I'm a legal adult, I swear."

She rolled her eyes. "Really? You sure you don't need a chaperone?"

I laughed at that, although it was probably true. I'd gotten into enough trouble growing up that my parents had suggested that very thing.

I led her into the living room, which looked immaculate as always. I hated that aspect of my house. It never looked lived-in; instead it resembled one of those Crate and Barrel catalogues, which were so impersonal they made me gag.

My room was a hell of a lot more "lived-in," but I didn't want to take Bella up there. It was a mess for one thing, and for another thing, bedrooms had their own connotations. Even though Bella and I weren't on that wavelength _at all_, I still didn't want to approach it.

So instead I walked to the couch, grateful for the actual cushioning. After two hours in those Forks Diner plastic booths, my back ached and my bones were stiff. I felt like an eighty-year-old man, and on days like these, I wondered if it would ever end.

"Jasper?" she asked, joining me on the couch. She always sat the same way: her legs tucked under her, her fingers idly tracing the hem of her jeans. She tried to tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear, but it was more a nervous habit than a deliberate effort to brush it away. I knew all of Bella's nervous habits, to be honest.

"Yeah?"

"Can you promise me something?"

I could hear the quiet desperation in her voice, coloring her words. She looked down at her small, slender hands, and back up at me.

"Don't…don't give up," she said.

I let out a long, slow breath. "It's complicated," I mumbled. "I'm not perfect, Bella."

"Well, that doesn't matter to anyone who matters."

I read the shy smile on her face, the knowing gleam in her eyes. "I knew that line would come back to haunt me."

"I wouldn't have gotten out of that car if you hadn't said that."

"I'd have made you."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"I know when to push."

It suddenly occurred to me how close we were sitting, with her knees right next to mine, and someone's heart thrumming a mile a minute. Was it hers? Fuck, I couldn't be sure. It didn't seem right that mine should be beating so fast all of a sudden, like it usually did right before I made a move on a girl.

I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat as it all came together.

Was I about to make a move on Bella?

I wasn't sure if it was real, or accidental, or what, but her arm brushed mine and it was wrong and right and so many things mixed up in one. It was right because I wanted it, it was wrong because I shouldn't.

A million different emotions raged within me, but in the end, desire won out over reason. For months and months and months I'd gone without human contact, no matter how minimal. I'd recoiled at the touch of another person's skin, at an embrace, at a simple handshake. But now I craved it like air, and when I ran my hand along the length of her arm, from the tips of her fingers to the slight dip of her collarbone, it was like learning how to breathe again.

A little gasp escaped her throat as I reached the crook of her neck. Her gaze never fell from mine, and instead of sitting back, she leaned forward. I traced her neck, her jaw, her cheeks with my thumb, and watched as her blush deepened. And then I ran my fingers through her thick brown hair, because fuck, that felt so good. Everything about her was warm. My crippled, broken body was coming to life again.

I wasn't sure, though, if this qualified as a "move." If I kissed her, she might panic, or slap me, or never talk to me again. I really wasn't getting that feeling, though. I was getting the feeling that she wanted me to kiss her, that if I leaned in, she would lean in, and something would happen.

"Who the fuck left a golf cart on the front lawn?!" someone bellowed, and we both recoiled as if a bonfire had sprung up between us.

We both turned to see Jane, my older sister, standing at the front door with her hands on her hips.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't realize…sorry, Bella. Is that your, uh, golf cart?"

"Yes," Bella nodded, and her face was a bright, flaming red. She stood up and gave me a knowing nod toward the door. "Anyway, I was just going."

"Okay," Jane said, looking utterly lost at this point. "Well, see ya later then."

Jane rolled her eyes at me as she headed for the kitchen, leaving me and Bella alone at the front door. For the first time all night, she struggled to make eye contact.

"Bella…" I said, wondering if an apology was warranted. I had touched her, after all. What if she hadn't wanted it? What if I was so goddamn out of practice that I'd missed all the signs?

"Good night, Jasper," she whispered. Her lips grazed my cheek in the softest of kisses, her heart still ramming wildly in her chest.

Just like mine.

***

***


	8. Five

**A/N: **Well looks like that last update got lost in the FFnet fail, but I think it came out eventually. If not, hopefully you realized that there is a Chapter 7 - go read that first!

I changed the last few lines of this chapter many, many times. I'm hoping it's not too ambiguous or metaphorical or whatever. A lot happens in this chapter, or at least I think it does.

Thank you as always for reading and reviewing. I can't say it enough. I just can't. So thank you, truly.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

FORGIVEN

Chapter 8

**BPOV**

_Every year on the last Thursday in January, Forks High School held its annual game of Assassins. I hated that game. Hated it to my very core, because I did not handle paranoia well. Everyone got a squirt gun and a name, and you had to try and nail your target without getting nailed first. I always got nailed early on. But my sophomore year of high school was the worst. _

_I had just been assigned my target, and for once, I was relieved. I had Jasper. This meant I could tell him he was my target, and instead of trying to kill him, I could just protect him. Since he knew I was the one hunting him, he was safe._

_Then again, for all I knew, some Assassins superstar had me as their target. Edward wouldn't tell me who he had, and neither would Rosalie. No one really told anyone, but I had Jasper, and I didn't like this game anyway so who really cared. I pulled him aside right before the game began, and whispered him the info in true spy fashion._

"_I have you," I said. "So, you know, I'll just protect you."_

"_Jeez, Bella," he said, rolling his eyes. "That's no fun!"_

_I gave him a weird look. "Don't you want to win?"_

"_Well, yeah, but I like the paranoia aspect of it."_

_I rolled my eyes. "Well don't worry, I'm sure I'll get offed pretty soon."_

"_I doubt that," he smirked._

"_Why?"_

"_Because Mike Newton has you."_

_This time I was the one to roll my eyes. Mike had a raging crush on me, which annoyed me to no end. I knew Edward liked me, and he knew I liked him, but to the shock and chagrin of everyone who knew us, nothing had happened yet. It was like we were stuck in some kind of friend-zone limbo._

_If Mike knew about the Edward-and-me drama, he didn't show it. He flirted with me every chance he got, sometimes right in front of Edward's face. Even though Edward made countless nasty comments about my potential suitors, he never did anything about it. And so there we remained, both of us capturing the attention of other people, neither of us really acting on it because we were waiting for each other._

"_I can't stand that guy," I muttered._

"_Well, he's got a major hard-on for you."_

"_Ugh." I looked up at the clock, waiting for the bell to ring. As soon as it did, the game would begin. Sometimes it went on for hours, sometimes days. It all depended on who was left at the end of the game._

_Last year I'd lasted about four minutes._

"_Uh oh," he said. "I gotta run. Need to stake out my killing post."_

"_Wow, that's some serious spy talk right there," I teased._

"_Shut up," he said with a grin. "Now don't get offed."_

_I rolled my eyes and headed outside, keeping my eye out for various people and their squirt guns. Most people chose to hide, but some liked to come right out in the open and nail people. I just wanted to find Mike and make sure someone nailed him so he'd be out of the game._

_It only took me a few minutes. He was standing by the dumpsters, and a wide smile found its way to his face as I made my approach._

"_Truce?" I asked._

_He raised an eyebrow. I didn't want him to kill me, not right away at least. "You're not my target, Bella."_

"_Yeah, I am. You don't have to trick me, Mike."_

_He held his hands up, a confused look on his face. "I'm not. I mean, I wish I had you. We could, you know, do an alliance."_

_Yeah, right. I knew exactly what kind of "alliance" he was looking for._

"_Um, okay," I said. "So if you don't have me, who does?"_

"_Who told you I have you?"_

"_Jasper."_

"_Then Jasper probably has you and was just trying to trick you."_

_I shook my head. "I have Jasper, so that's impossible."_

_He shrugged. "Then I don't know."_

_This was annoying. Mike seemed genuinely perplexed, and it wasn't his style to play tricks on me. If he had me, he'd take every opportunity to forge an alliance with me because he wouldn't have wanted me out of the game so soon._

"_Come here," he whispered, pulling me back behind the dumpster. I didn't like it back here; as gross as it was, people came here to make out. I really didn't want things to escalate to that, especially since I'd never been kissed before. I didn't want to remember my first kiss this way._

"_Mike—"_

"_Whoever has you is friends with Jasper. They made an alliance and tricked you. See what I'm saying?"_

_I thought about that for a second, peeking out from behind the dumpsters. That made sense, aside from the fact that Edward was the only likely candidate to conspire with Jasper. I knew he wouldn't do that to me, though. I mean, if Edward had me, he'd tell me._

"_Then who is it?" I whispered, growing more and more paranoid by the second. God, I hated this game._

"_Shh, someone's coming."_

_We ducked down so that our knees were touching, and his face was just a few inches from mine. Panic and nerves and whole lot of other things coursed through me, and I wished with every cell of my being that Edward were here instead of Mike. Yes, I hated the dumpster, but I would have kissed Edward here. But now Mike was going to try, and I'd probably just do it because I should have been kissed by now, and he was so close and really liked me and—_

"_Pleft!" I coughed, spitting out the icy cold water that had nailed me in the face. I rubbed it out of my eyes, stumbling backwards. By then Mike had taken off, and Edward was standing in his place, his eyes dark with hurt._

"_Edward!" was all I could manage to yell, still reeling from the fact that my best friend had betrayed me. He'd already eliminated me from the game, not to mention shot me in the face with a pelt of cold water._

_I tried to stomp off, but he grasped me by the wrists, dropping his gun as he did so. The game was forgotten, and so was the rest of the world. He brushed my wet cheeks with his thumb, and pressed his lips to mine in a desperate, reckless kind of kiss. After I got over the shock of it all, I kissed him back until my head spun with the shortage of air._

"_Edward!" I railed at him again, but he was smiling now. And soon I was smiling, too, smiling so wide I thought my face might get stuck that way forever. _

"_I'm sorry!" he said._

"_Yeah, you should be sorry," I huffed. "Killing me so early in the game, not telling me you had me. Jeez!"_

"_Not for that," he whispered, his words like stolen kisses against my lips. "For waiting ten years to kiss you again."_

***

I heard the door close behind me, the sound echoing into the night. I had so many thoughts racing through my brain that I could hardly see straight. I climbed into the golf cart, but I couldn't press the button without Jasper sitting beside me. I needed him.

_I needed him._

I knew I was confused. I hadn't touched someone in so long, hadn't been touched, hadn't even wanted it. But it felt right when Jasper touched me, ghosting his fingers along my skin.

I meandered across his lawn, cutting through yards as I made my way home. It was a long walk, which gave me time to second-guess everything that had happened. Were his intentions romantic, or simply friendly? Had he touched me to comfort me, or was it something else?

I took a few deep breaths, trying to sort through it. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd done something wrong. I still loved Edward, would always love Edward, would think about him until the day I died. So was this a betrayal? Was enjoying the touch of another man completely unforgivable?

There were days when I simply woke up in the morning and forgot that Edward was dead. I'd have those first few seconds, that perfect limbo between dreaming and waking, thinking everything was the way it had always been. And then I'd remember, and it was like falling back into a nightmare that never ends.

That nightmare, though, had changed. I could feel something—or maybe it was everything—in my life regaining its color again. It was a slow change, definitely. And sometimes I took a few steps back without taking any forward. But it was something. I had something, and I wasn't sure if it was the golf cart, or my job, or that decades-old list. Or maybe it was none of those things.

When I got to my front door, I saw that the kitchen light was still on. Charlie was reading his newspaper, but he wasn't alone. Mike Newton, of all people, was drinking coffee with my father. It was the most bizarre and unexpected sight I'd seen in a long time.

"Oh, hey Bella," Mike said, his face brightening. My dad looked up and uttered his usual greeting.

"Hi," I said, managing half a smile. "Um, am I interrupting something?"

"Mike's joining the Port Angeles police department," Charlie said, in his usual laconic fashion.

"Oh," I said, my eyes darting between them both. "That's, um, that's great."

"Yeah," Mike said, grinning from ear to ear. "Should be interesting."

"Well, good luck with everything."

I turned to go upstairs, but Charlie stopped me with his gruff, booming voice. I swear you could hear that voice across town.

"You should go up there sometime," he said.

I turned around, reeling at the implication. "What?" I asked.

"You should, you know, branch out a bit. Get out of Forks."

I looked at Mike, whose grin was now a little strained. My father the matchmaker. Go figure.

"I'm not…I'm don't really have any reason to go," I said.

"You're twenty-three, Bella," my dad said. "That's a good enough reason to leave Forks once in a while."

I rammed my hands into my pockets, feeling my face heat up. "Yeah, well, I'll think about it," I said, hoping to extricate myself from the situation.

"It's an open invitation," Mike said. "Anytime, really."

I nodded, forced a smile.

I had a feeling there would be no easy way out of this one.

***

Sure enough, Mike's persistence rivaled that of our high school days. It took me a month, but he finally wore me down. I really needed to get some shopping done, and it looked like Mike was my only means of doing so.

Jasper still called almost every day, but we hadn't seen each other in town or elsewhere. Now that he was working full-time, he spent most evenings at the gym or the hospital. He never again showed up at my door looking like death, and he never spoke about that day or the night that followed.

I realized, as time passed, that it was probably for the best. Jasper and I had a very long history, but an uncomplicated one. I didn't want to ruin it by succumbing to my hormones in a moment of weakness. Then again, my hormones hadn't exactly been raging for quite some time now. I never thought about dating, about kissing, and definitely not about having sex.

Well, not quite never. I'd felt something then, the way he touched me, the way a man touches a woman before he…

I shook my head, ridding myself of the thought. Jasper hadn't exactly brought it up, so it didn't matter anyway. I was sure he'd just chalked it up to a weak moment, just as I had.

Mike rolled up in his police cruiser on a Saturday morning. He was off-duty, but for some reason, I felt safer riding in it than a regular car. He didn't say anything about it, and I didn't bring it up. He probably figured I had some weird phobia about cars. Which I did, of course. I just didn't feel like talking about that to anyone but Jasper.

"Thanks, um, for the ride," I said, as I climbed inside. It smelled like a cop car—clean, but thoroughly used. The faint scent of coffee clouded the front seat.

"No problem," he said, which was followed by twenty minutes of awkward silence.

"So, how's your family?" I asked, trying without success to remember Mike Newton's family members. We didn't travel in the same social circles in high school, since he was a year ahead of me. But I thought he had a sister…or a brother…or maybe just a dog.

"Good," he said. "My sister's studying law in San Fran."

"Oh," I said. "That's great."

He nodded. "Yep."

Another twenty minutes, and then we were there. But the awkwardness quickly morphed into anxiety when Rosalie appeared out of nowhere with Emmett on her arm. I should have expected to see half the population of Forks up here on a sunny Saturday, but it still surprised me to see them. I felt exposed right then, as if someone might at any second announce my attempt to rejoin the dating world. Then again, this wasn't a date. Definitely not.

"Bella!" she squealed, running over to me. Mike stepped back and let the hugging ensue.

"What're you doing up here, Bellie?" Emmett asked. He was smiling, too, and I almost didn't notice the strain on his features. But it was there, somewhere, lurking behind the pallor of his skin and the noticeable circles under his eyes.

"Just shopping," I said.

"With Mike? God that's a lousy fucking choice. Right, man?" Emmett jabbed him in the side, chuckling to himself.

"It's true," Mike said. "I'm out of my element."

"Well, you and Bella will do quite well, then," Rosalie said, her eyes shining. "Her mall threshold is like, fifteen minutes."

I rolled my eyes. "It's not…fifteen minutes."

"Pretty close."

I sighed. "Okay, fine."

Another awkward silence began to grow, but this time I was the one to break it.

"Is, um…have you seen Jasper lately?" I asked.

I could have sworn I saw a smile flicker on Rosalie's lips, but then it was gone. "Actually, I thought I saw him around earlier."

"Really?" I felt my stomach drop. Jasper never would have asked me to come to Port Angeles—he knew I wouldn't drive up here—but I was disappointed nonetheless.

"Yeah, with, uh…what's her face?" Emmett said. "Veronica something or other?"

"Victoria?" I almost screeched, recalling the wild redhead who had occupied Jasper's thoughts for most of high school. They had dated off-and-on, but the relationship was so completely unpredictable that college had wiped it out.

Rosalie nodded, and this time the smirk was a little more noticeable. Was she teasing me?

"Huh," I said, feigning disinterest. "Well, we should, um…shop."

"Actually," Mike said, "do you want to grab lunch? I'm starving."

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. If I saw Jasper out here on the street with Victoria, I didn't know how I'd react. I honestly didn't want to find out.

"Mind if we join you?" Rosalie asked. "Emmett's running out of steam here."

"I'm fine," he said, waving her off. "It's just this shopping shit. Gives me a headache, ya know?"

He forced a smile, but it only took two seconds of eye-contact to bring us back to that Friday afternoon.

I resolved to figure out just what was wrong with Emmett McCarty.

***

We ate lunch at a tiny corner café, which didn't work too well because I kept stealing glances out the window. I was beginning to think Rosalie had simply created that rumor when Jasper rounded the corner, shopping bags dangling from his wrist. Thankfully the redhead wasn't dangling from his wrist, but she didn't look unhappy. And neither did he. I stared at my empty cup of coffee and tried to focus on the present conversation.

"Oh, there's Jasper!" Rosalie cried.

Well, then. That idea flew out the window.

"I'll wave him in," Emmett said.

"No, don't." I looked up at Emmett, a silent plea in my eyes. I couldn't deal with that right now. It wasn't that I had a thing for Jasper, or that I was jealous…I just didn't like the thought of Victoria coming in here. I didn't know her well, and I didn't trust people I didn't know.

"I just…I mean, I think we should start shopping. Don't you think, Mike?" I asked, but I could see the look of skepticism on Rosalie's face. She wasn't buying it. Didn't surprise me. I was a terrible liar.

"Um, sure," he said.

We both stood up, but Rosalie and Emmett soon followed. We all paid the bill and walked outside into the grim sunlight.

"Well, hey, I still need to get your birthday present," Rosalie said, turning to Emmett. "Mind if I hang out with Bella for a bit?"

Emmett shook his head. "Fine with me, sweetheart. You want to hit the lingerie place, Mike?"

Mike turned a shade of red, glancing at me for approval. "Uh, sure," he said.

Rosalie wasted no time in whisking me away, her heels clinking on the sidewalk as we went. I always wore my trusty tennis shoes, which had been in my father's house since high school. Clearly I hadn't made too much of an effort for this outing.

"Rosalie!" I muttered, once we'd escaped into a little boutique. "What was that all about?"

"My God, Bella," she uttered. "You're avoiding Jasper, aren't you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "No."

"Then what was that subversive move back there? Not to mention all your paranoid glances all over the place."

I sighed loudly. "I just don't want to deal with Victoria, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like her."

"Why not?"

"Because they had a thing in high school and it wasn't good for him."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't seem to have a problem with it in high school."

"Well, maybe she got meaner or something."

"Jesus, Bella," she sighed. "You're so transparent."

"I'm just looking out for him—"

"You think he's going to just hold out for you? I mean, come on. He's a man, he's got needs. If he can get it from her, then good for him."

"I didn't mean it like that," I said in a small voice. Is that what it looked like? Was I holding him back?

"It's been nine months, Bella. You've got to move on sometime."

My eyes narrowed, my vision blurring with tears. I didn't know where they came from, but to hear her say it, to imply that he should move on even if I wasn't ready…

"Bella," she said, her voice a little softer now. "I'm just saying it's okay…it's okay to let go a little bit."

"I can't," I whispered.

"Edward loved you," she said. "You loved him. What would you have wanted for him?"

"Everything," I said, but the word got caught in a choked sob and hardly sounded like a word at all.

"Then let yourself have everything," she said. "Don't hold back until your whole life just passes you by."

I shook my head, smearing unwanted tears with the back of my hand. "I don't know what I want."

"I think you do."

I shook my head. "It feels wrong, Rosalie. Every time I so much as think about…"

"Liking someone else?"

I said nothing, but my silence spoke volumes. "I feel like it's a betrayal," I said.

"He's dead, Bella—"

"But—"

"Bella," she said, cutting me off. "You know I've seen you go through hell. You know I have no idea what it feels like to lose the love of your life. But you know what? I know a thing or two about shit hitting the fan. I know what it means to feel hopeless."

I snapped my eyes up to meet hers, meeting the fire in her gaze. I knew then what she was about to tell me. I felt as though I had known for a very long time.

"What's wrong with Emmett?" I asked.

She hugged her arms to her chest, shivering in the cold. "Heart problem," she said. "Congenital defect or some shit like that."

"But he played football all those years…"

"Could have killed him," she said. "The doctors still can't figure out why his heart didn't explode. It's one of those things you can't really diagnose until something goes wrong."

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," I said, and I hoped she knew how deeply I meant that.

"That's life, you know?"

I nodded. I knew. In a different way, maybe, but I knew.

"Is he…is he going to be okay?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said, her voice distant, barely audible. "It depends."

"On what?"

She shrugged. "Luck."

I hugged her then, saying nothing because there was nothing to say. Rosalie grieved in her own way, as we all did. I knew how much effort it took to put that smile on her face, but she tried anyway.

"You can talk to me, Rosalie. I mean, I know I've been distant…kind of unavailable, but I'm doing better. I just wish I could have been a better friend to you when it mattered."

She smiled, and the warmth behind it surprised me. "It matters now."

"Am I too late?"

"To be a friend?" She waved her hand in a dismissive kind of way, her smile lingering on her face. "You don't put time limitations on that. And if you do, well, you're dealing with some super sensitive people."

I managed a smile. Rosalie hated "sensitive people." She also hated clichés, but in the case of sensitive people, the mantra that "life's too short" always applied.

"Okay," I said. "Well I'm glad you're not super sensitive."

"I know about the list, Bella."

I drew my eyes up to hers, searching for some indication of blame or judgment. But there was none, of course. Just the hint of amusement in her bright green eyes.

"Did Jasper…?"

"He let it slip," she said, eyeing me closely. "Which, by the way, I think is the cutest thing ever. I'm almost tempted to go over to that kindergarten and pick mine up."

I smiled at that, picturing the lofty goals on Rosalie's list. "Movie Star" had probably hit the list at least eight times.

"Don't make a new one," I said. "Comparing lists was depressing."

"Well, that's your fault," she teased. "Which one are you working on for Edward's list?"

I shrugged, recalling my last conversation with Jasper in his living room. I knew he was working on the scholarship, but he hadn't given me any details. I had a feeling it had something to do with Alice's family, who apparently came from a lot of money.

"Jasper's working on something," I said.

"What are you working on?"

I thought back to the list, the craggy red letters written beside a huge number five: BE SPY. I smiled at the image plastered in my mind. Obviously Jasper and I had no intention of joining the CIA, so I'd considered just skipping it altogether.

"Apparently Edward had aspirations of espionage," I said.

She smiled a wicked smile. "How appropriate," she snickered.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Bella. Haven't you been spying on someone all afternoon?"

I felt my face get hot. "Um, no…"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, it looks like he's doing the same, so don't feel bad."

"He is?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "He's just better at it than you are."

"Did he know I was coming?"

"Even your dad gossips, Bella."

"Apparently," I mumbled. I looked over my shoulder, thinking I might see Jasper slip behind a corner or something. I don't know why it made me feel better that he was keeping an eye on me, but it did.

"Well now that I've blown both your cover," she said, her eyes twinkling, "can we actually get some shopping done or what?"

***

By the time we met up again with Mike and Emmett, I was ready to go home. Another awkward ride ensued, made even more awkward by the fact that I insisted on driving twenty miles an hour below the speed limit.

Thankfully, Mike never made a move on me. I mumbled a good-bye and stumbled out of his car, anxious to get inside. If Mike had known how many anti-anxiety meds I'd taken in order to get in that car and mingle with other humans, he never would have taken me in the first place. I'd forced myself, for my dad's sake. Charlie didn't like to see his once-adventuresome daughter avoiding all social contact like the plague.

I walked up to my room, savoring the silence of an empty house. A light snow fell outside, reiterating how much time had passed since last spring. Nine months. Like a pregnancy, sort of. I sometimes thought of things in terms of pregnancy time periods, not for any real reason other than the fact that nine months was either really long or really short, depending on how you looked at it. To me, nine months sometimes felt like nothing, and sometimes felt like forever.

I sat on the edge of my bed and ran my hands along the thick fabric. Most things hadn't changed in Charlie's house, including my bedroom. It reminded me of high school and late nights and broken curfews, and all the things I'd done to drive him crazy. And now he wanted nothing more than for me to do something crazy. After all this time, how far had I really come?

Spying, in some people's books, qualified as crazy. Then again, I hadn't done anything too outlandish. I'd just, well…seen Jasper there, and tried to avoid him. I didn't want to talk to him, and I sure as hell didn't want to talk to Victoria.

Then why was I still thinking about it?

Why did I care?

I stood up, glimpsing the cell phone on my dresser. I hadn't used it in months. I'd simply let it die, figuring I'd never want to use it again. But now it was haunting me, teasing me, taunting me like my last fraying lifeline to modern society.

I walked over to my dresser and picked it up. Then I plugged it in, waited for it to come to life again, and did something I hadn't done in nine long months.

I used it.

_How was port angeles? _

I waited for a few seconds, my hands shaking after I pressed the little green SEND button. I still had all my numbers stored in the phone, except Edward's and Alice's. At least I'd had the foresight to spare myself that kind of torture.

The message icon flashed on the screen. I swallowed hard.

_Bella?_

_Yeah, it's me_

_Your cell phone recovered?_

_I recovered_

I smiled, not because I thought it was a particular witty response, but because I had a feeling he was smiling, too.

_Good. I missed your weird texts_

It was true. Most of my texts didn't make logical sense; they were like an unrelenting stream of consciousness.

_So did you finish your shopping?_

_Where? _

I should have seen this coming. Jasper was no doubt enjoying the fact that I'd just admitted to caring about his whereabouts, and now he was going to tease me for it.

_Come on Jasper, I saw you up there_

_Spying on me, eh?_

_It's hard to miss that woman's hair_

I could almost hear him laughing on the other end, wherever he was. Victoria had picked a fight with me once, and I'd won the battle by hanging on to her hair as she tried to throw me off her back.

My inbox flashed again.

_So is yours_

_Mine's not red_

_But it's great hair_

I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. I wore my hair up these days, thrown up in a haphazard ponytail. I honestly hadn't thought about paying anymore attention to it than that. I didn't think anyone really noticed.

I switched the topic, nearing the question I wanted to ask.

_So are you home now?_

After a few minutes of silence, I felt my stomach tighten with nerves. Had I said the wrong thing? Was he onto me?

_Yeah just got home. what're you up to?_

I sat down at my desk, thinking carefully. I usually just texted whatever came into my mind, but those nerves in my stomach wouldn't go away.

_Hanging out_

_Me too_

Another few beats of silence. He was either a monumental tease or just as nervous as I was. Finally I just said the hell with it and texted the unspoken question.

_Do you want to go somewhere?_

_Where?_

_Just somewhere_

_Give me 10 min_

***

I didn't give Jasper the chance to come to my front door. I was sitting on a little boulder at the end of my driveway, attempting to keep warm by tucking my knees into my sweatshirt. Jasper walked up the road with his blonde hair all over the place, a lazy smile on his face. He was tall and handsome, a little less rugged than Edward, a little more refined. I caught myself studying the lankiness of his frame, the ever-present mystery in his eyes.

I hoped right then he didn't see the deep blush that was warming me everywhere.

"Hey," he said, coming to a stop a few feet away. I realized in that one word how much I missed him, how ridiculous it was for me to think that a phone conversation could ever substitute for seeing him in person.

"Hey," I said, hearing the smile in my voice.

"Breaking curfew?"

"I wish I had one to break."

His eyebrows rose, a smirk forming on his lips. "You trying to get into trouble, Bella?"

I shrugged, my blush deepening. "Maybe."

"Well, that can definitely be arranged."

He reached out and pulled me up, steadying me with two hands as I stumbled into him. He stepped back, clearing his throat as he looked toward the woods.

"Are we talking outdoor adventure here?" he asked.

"Um, no," I laughed. "Clearly I can't even stand up using my own two feet."

He nodded, a carefree grin coloring his face. Edward had always had a way with words, but Jasper used his judiciously. He never wasted a single word, and for that reason, you clung to everything he said.

We walked down the familiar street, the wind at our back. Jasper was wearing his usual dark jeans and light jacket, but he didn't seem cold. He seemed at ease. Maybe more than I'd ever seen him.

"Did you know about Emmett?" I asked, shattering the stillness of such a cold, blustery night.

He nodded.

"It's really…unfair," I said.

He turned to me, his blue eyes dark but clear in the dim light of the moon. "What _is_ fair?" he asked.

I said nothing. Leave it to Jasper to ask a question that anyone who had ever suffered probably thought about every single day, but never knew how to put into words.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe nothing."

"I thought college was pretty fair," he said.

I looked up, expecting a teasing smile on his face. But he was serious, his brow creased in thought.

"That's true," I said. "High school wasn't, though."

This time, the corners of his mouth curled up. "Really? How come?"

"I don't know, let's see…Dodgeball, PE, Assassins, pre-calculus…the list goes on."

"You didn't like all those things?"

I rolled my eyes. "You did?"

"Was not a fan of pre-calculus."

"See what I mean?"

He glanced over at me, the smile lingering on his lips. "But they weren't really unfair, were they?"

"Dodgeball? Getting pelted in the face with a big rubber ball by some guy four times your size?"

"Okay, okay," he said, laughing as I freaked out. "Dodgeball equals not fair."

We walked in silence a little longer, coming to a stop at the big white sign of Forks High School. I wasn't sure if I wanted to cringe or smile. This place held so many memories for me, some bad, some good. Mostly good, because you always remember the end of something, and only rarely the beginning. And the end of high school was good, so very, very good.

"Is this fair?" he asked.

He had his hands in his pockets, his gaze settling on the dark windows of Forks High School. It took him a few seconds to look at me. It took me just as long to register what he had asked, and what he had meant.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Are you dating Mike?"

I shook my head. "Are you dating…her?"

"No. Do you like him?"

Again I shook my head, but the next question didn't come out the way I'd intended it. "Do you like me?"

He looked down at the ground, tracing a line in the dirt. It was an unfair question, a question neither one of us was ready for. But I couldn't bring myself to take it back. Instead I just looked at him, waiting for him to draw his eyes up to mine.

"I shouldn't have brought you out in the cold," he said. "That was a stupid idea."

We were standing by the chain-link fence, just outside the football stadium. The dumpsters were way across the lot, almost hidden by the trees, but I thought of them now. Of all the things I could possibly be thinking about, I thought about those goddamn dumpsters and that dumb game and the perfect bliss of a first kiss.

I had only kissed one person in my twenty-three years. And that was enough, it had always been enough…

And now, suddenly, it wasn't.

He looked up at me, finally, and my heart ached at the look on his face. He waited, but I couldn't get the words out. They weren't necessary, really. He knew me better than I knew myself; he spoke the silent language of two best, but broken friends.

With a quiet sigh, he brought his hand up and swept a few stray hairs behind my ear. His fingers lingered there, and my skin tingled under his touch. For as cold as it was, his hands were still warm, almost feverish.

Jasper never spoke when actions were better served. And so it didn't surprise me when his fingers threaded through my hair, and he kissed me. It was a soft kiss, infused with meaning, constrained by so much guilt and longing that all I could do was reach up around his neck and kiss him back with everything I had.

I wasn't the type of person who thought about things while kissing someone. I forgot about all of it—the accident, the dumpsters, the vague sense of betrayal that had occupied my mind for the last few weeks. I just kissed him because I wanted it, needed it, and in that moment it felt fair and right and natural.

And for that reason, neither one of us stopped until I was heaving and panting and struggling for air. As I stood there catching my breath, sweating instead of shivering, he leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"Yes, Bella," he said, holding my gaze, tracing the blush on my cheeks that had been there since the second I picked up that cell phone and asked him to come. And I knew then what was happening, knew it with my heart and soul and being, because it had happened once before. It was different, but also the same. Less like falling, and more like letting go.

Fairness had nothing to do with it.

It just was.

***

***


	9. Six

**A/N:** Thank you as always for reading. A special thanks to the Tweeters who have so faithfully promoted this story, and to anyone else who has recommended this little bundle of angst. And for those of you who still hate me for killing Edward, don't worry, I still can't believe I did that.

I fell off my Every-Three-Days update schedule due to the insanity of my final weeks of this semester. I'll try and get back on it!

I have a soft spot for this chapter, or maybe just the last little bit of it. I'm not sure why.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

FORGIVEN

Chapter 9

**JPOV**

_The Forks High Talent Show was, without a doubt, the worst amateur production ever conceived. People stood up there and said weird shit, did even weirder shit, and attempted to entertain. It was just…an abomination, really._

_For that reason, most students avoided it. But after the sophomore year fiasco in which Mrs. Cope had almost ripped her own hair out at the sheer misery of it all, Edward decided to turn things around. He got us all involved: Rosalie, Emmett, me, and eventually Bella. She didn't like the idea of so much attention, but Edward convinced her somehow._

_They held the damned thing on a Friday night in the Forks High gym. It actually drew a large crowd, mostly due to the fact that any student who showed up got extra credit for attending. As a result, the place was packed. I wound my way through the crowd, looking for my entourage. Instead I found Edward in one of the classrooms, engaged in a rather heated argument with Mrs. Cope._

_I stepped inside just as he stepped out. "Everything okay here, man?" I asked._

"_Yeah," he grumbled, closing the door behind him. "Everything's so PC around this place."_

_He grinned at me, the silent signal that a little trickery was about to unfold. I rolled my eyes and followed him into the gym._

_We were the last act, which meant Bella had almost completely gnawed off her bottom lip by the time we made it onstage. Edward and I played the guitar, Emmett worked the drums, and Rosalie belted shit out like a pro. Bella kind of stood off to the side, looking anxious. When everything suddenly stopped, Edward glanced in her direction, nodding once toward the center of the stage. She was shaking, her face whiter than the bright lights of the auditorium. She somehow managed to walked towards him, and her body seemed to relax as Edward took his place beside her. An awkward silence fell over the crowd, the lights dimming backstage. Then Edward started singing, and so did she._

_It surprised me, really, to hear Bella Swan sing. She had a soft, breathy voice, buoyed by Edward's low, sultry one. But it was, in many ways, one of the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard. It wasn't a song anyone knew, and it soon became clear that someone—maybe both of them—had written it. It was full of such honest, sincere devotion that even Mrs. Cope was sobbing by the end of it._

_Under any other circumstances, I would have given Edward a whole lot of shit for being so sappy. But I could see by the look of pride and accomplishment on Bella's face, and the love in both their eyes, that there was no place for criticism. _

_I found her afterward, sitting alone backstage while the rest of the "band" packed up. The shy smile on her face shone with pure, faraway happiness, as if she were thinking about a memory and wishing it back to life.  
_

"_Great job in there," I said, taking a seat beside her._

_She looked up at me, her smile widening into a grin. "Thanks," she said._

"_Did you guys plan that?"_

_She nodded. "Edward's idea. He wanted me to practice for my valedictory speech."_

"_You're valedictorian?"_

"_Edward seems to think I will be."_

"_He's proud of you," I said. _

_She said nothing, an easy silence settling between us. "Are you proud of me?" she asked._

"_Yeah," I said, the way a sixteen-year-old does, trying to sound cool. But it didn't come out right, and her eyes darkened and her gaze fell to her shoes._

"_Bella," I said, nudging her in the shoulder. She looked up again, her brow creased with worry._

"_I thought it was fucking awesome."_

_Her smile lit up the room._

_***_

I don't know how many times I apologized to Bella for subjecting her to a nighttime stroll in February, but it was a lot. Definitely too many. Her hand was like ice in mine, and it made me nervous. My brain, though, had a sneaky way of distracting itself. I was worried about the cold, probably a little too worried, but it was just a front for something else.

I had kissed someone other than Alice.

I had kissed Edward's girlfriend.

I had liked it.

Much, much more than I should have.

I winced at the thought, recalling those words I had spoken to Edward the day I marched to Bella's house in the rain. I _had_ done it for him. All of it. To atone for my sins, to promise him she wouldn't be forgotten, to protect the one and only woman he had ever loved.

And here I was, a mere six months after that stunt on her porch, kissing the hell out of her.

Fairness didn't even enter into it. Nothing about this was fair. It wasn't fair that Edward was gone, that I had kissed his girlfriend, that I'd done it not because she asked me to, but because I wanted to.

She squeezed my hand, her warm brown eyes finding mine as we made our way home. We passed my house first, but I didn't hesitate. My whole family was there tonight, and I didn't feel like dealing with them. Judging by the look on Bella's face, she didn't either.

When Bella's driveway came into view, I could make out the chief's car by the garage, bathed in the light spilling from the kitchen windows. She smiled at the predictability of her father, who hadn't totally abandoned the whole curfew idea.

"Thanks for walking me," she said.

"Is your dad gonna, you know, give me a stern talking-to or something?" I tried to sound teasing, but the Fear of the Chief never quite went away.

She smiled, but a hint of strain lurked behind her eyes. "As much as he probably wants to, no."

I nodded and turned to go. I could see her dad standing at the window, looking every bit as menacing as a cop should be.

"Jasper," she said, tightening her grasp on my hand. Her fingers were small and slender, but strong.

"Don't regret it," she said. "I don't."

I looked down at the wet earth beneath my feet. I could feel her eyes searching for mine, her voice gently pleading.

"How could I?" I whispered, pulling her into a hug. Her dad was giving me the evil eye, which I ignored. I got the feeling that any human male in the orbit of his daughter would have endured the same thing. "Let's just not worry about things too much, okay?"

I didn't know what the hell "things" meant, and neither did she, but she didn't question it. She pulled away slowly, her cheeks moist, her smile wavering.

"Good night, Jasper," she said. "Can you, um…"

"Text you?"

She smiled a little wider, a little easier. "Yeah," she said. "Texting is good."

It was a long walk home.

***

Things with Alice had happened fast. Extremely fast, more like a whirlwind than a logical progression of time. We met, we talked, we made out, she put up a weak chase for a while, and then we started dating. I fell for her fast, and hard. I never questioned my feelings for her, and neither did she.

When you lose that first one, walls go up. You're guarded, you're broken, you're worried that failure—instead of bliss—is the norm. Add all that to the Edward situation, and my feelings for Bella were all but simple.

And yet I'd kissed her anyway.

I didn't know how to sort through all this, or even where to start. I didn't hear from her the next day, which wasn't unusual, but it worried me a little bit. Was she angry? Hurt by what I'd said, even though every word of it was true?

It didn't kill me to like Bella, to think of her as an attractive woman who might actually return the sentiment.

It killed me to like Edward's girlfriend.

Monday was a long day thanks to a lousy night's sleep, and Tuesday was even worse. I still hadn't heard from Bella, and I was starting to panic. I kept my cell phone on my desk at work and even took it in with me to the gym. I mean, fuck, didn't we live like five minutes apart? What the hell was wrong with me?

I would have answered that question eventually, but Emmett did it first. He came into the hospital more and more often these days, usually for routine tests to monitor his failing heart. Somehow, though, his spirits remained high. He had the rare gift of forgetting about his own situation and focusing on other things.

"Still working hard?" he asked, late on Wednesday afternoon. My phone was sitting right beside me, silent as ever.

"Harder than you," I joked.

"Got that right," he said. "All I do is sit here and get pampered."

He took a seat at my desk, glaring at my phone. "Expecting an important call?"

"Uh, no," I muttered.

"Jesus, did your dick fall off? Don't tell me you're waiting for some girl to call you—"

"I'm not whipped like you, Emmett." I tried to avert his gaze, but failed. He was onto me; I could tell by the wicked smirk on his face.

"Oh, shit," he said. "Who is it? That redhead? What the fuck's her name…Vanessa…Veronica…"

"It's Victoria, and no, I'm not waiting for her to call."

"Then who is it?"

I looked back at my computer screen, but all I could think about was that silent phone. I couldn't even remember the days when voicemail didn't exist, and if someone you liked didn't call you, you could just go on thinking you'd missed it.

"No one," I said.

"Bull_shit_."

He just sat there, waiting. Emmett had an unlimited supply of idle time, and I knew from past experience he'd have no problem sitting there for the duration of the afternoon.

"It's not a big thing," I said. "It's really not."

"What's not a big thing?"

"The phone thing."

"Wow, you really are a woman—"

"I kissed Bella, okay? Christ, Emmett. Satisfied?"

He didn't say a word, didn't even breathe. It took me a few seconds to tear my eyes away from my computer screen to look at him, and the sight that greeted me wasn't exactly a cheery one.

"When?" he demanded.

"A few days ago."

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he did so. "This is some complicated shit, man."

"I know," I muttered.

I could tell he was about to ream into me, but he stopped when he saw my face. Maybe he saw fear, or uncertainty, or a whole lot of guilt. I sure as hell felt those things, and I could only imagine how plain it was on my face.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Don't give me a bullshit answer. Tell me why you did it."

"I just wanted to…at the time."

"So you did it for you, or for her?"

I dropped my hands to my sides, wiping the sweat on my jeans. I felt like this was an interrogation, but at the same time, I almost welcomed it.

"For both of us, maybe."

"Don't do her any favors, Jazz. She doesn't need that."

"Do her a favor by replacing Edward? Give me a break—"

"Yeah," he said. "That's exactly what I mean. You're better than that, and so is she."

"I don't think I'm a replacement."

"Then man up and find out."

With a quick shove, he sent my phone careening across the desk into my lap. I glared at him, but Emmett's stern resolve never wavered. He crossed his arms over his thick chest and waited for me to do something.

I didn't feel like enduring a conversation with Emmett as my audience, so I sent her a text instead. It was definitely rushed, and not at all what I should have said.

_Can we talk?_

I flipped it shut, sliding the phone back in Emmett's direction. But it beeped just seconds later, and Emmett read the message before I could wrench it from his hands.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said.

***

In fact, I had no idea what I was doing. I had just sent Bella the most generic of all break-up texts, and we weren't even together. Her message, though, was just as flat, which made everything worse. Clearly she wasn't the only one rethinking this development.

Bella offered to pick me up that night in her golf cart, and I didn't object. She didn't ride in anything but cop cars and golf carts, so I didn't have much choice. Fortunately, I'd managed at one point to enclose the stupid thing so she could ride in it without enduring the elements.

She drove up to my doorstep at precisely six o'clock. Bella had a problem with lateness, as in it never happened. Last Saturday night had required a slight deviation from her routine, but not a major one. Tonight, I suspected, wouldn't be much different in that regard.

"Get in," she said, gesturing toward the passenger side. I felt all kinds of lame for having a girl drive me somewhere in a golf cart, but if Bella had suggested using a wheelbarrow, I'd have agreed to it. Leaving her house was always a small victory for her, and it was something I never underestimated.

"Hey to you, too," I smirked. Only then did I notice the obvious change in her appearance, from the clothes she was wearing to the soft sheen of her hair. She still wore it up, but I could tell she had spent some time on it. A few strands fell loosely from her ponytail, and I resisted the urge to brush them away.

Her jeans were darker, newer, not her usual pair that she'd worn almost to threads for the past few months. But it was her sweater that captivated me; it was a rich, dark blue, a sea of color against the smooth white of her collarbones.

Fuck, I was staring. I cleared my throat and tried to look away, but it was no use. If my intention had been to break things off, I was already faltering.

"You look…fantastic," I said.

"Thank you," she said, blushing as her gaze fell to her hands.

"So where to?" I asked.

"Um…maybe dinner somewhere?"

"Still like Italian?"

She smiled. "A pretty safe bet for a girl named Bella, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say, Swannie."

She rolled her eyes, and hit that little black "Go" button with gusto.

Without any hesitation.

***

Dinner was uneventful. We talked about work, and our friends, and various other details of our daily lives. The kiss never came up, and I realized by the time dessert came around how desperately I'd been avoiding the subject.

"I haven't been out to dinner in so long," Bella said, pulling me back to the present.

"How about a bar?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, I was thinking if you're trying to make up for lost time, the place across the street is having karaoke night."

She eyed me warily, her brow crinkling. "Jasper, I have no musical aptitude whatsoever."

"That's not true."

She thought about that for a second, then shook her head. "I'm _definitely_ not singing."

"I wasn't asking you to."

"Then what were you asking me to do?"

"Wasn't there something on that list about…I don't know…being a musician of some sort?"

She cringed, realization dawning on her face. In true five-year-old fashion, Edward had written ROCKSTAR in the sixth spot, and here we were in the face of Forks glory. Well, not quite, but I had a feeling Edward would have appreciated it.

"I can't play the piano, Jasper. I seriously can't do anything."

I took her by the hand, ignoring her weak protests as we left the restaurant and crossed the street into the bar. It was kind of a dive, with its gaudy fixtures and grungy pool table. The crowd, too, was seriously lacking. But it was a bar, which meant more to Bella than most people.

"I'll teach you something," I said.

"I'm hopeless."

I placed her hand on mine, which warmed beneath her touch. She relaxed after a little while, her breathing calm and deep, her hands ghosting the subtle movements of my fingers. It had been years, maybe even a decade since I'd touched a piano, but it came back quickly. I wasn't the musician Edward had been, but I had an ear for melody, and song, and playing from the heart.

After a while, she lifted her head from my shoulder and stilled my hands with hers. My heart jumped out of my chest at the sensation of her warm breath on my neck, her lips grazing my jaw as she traveled upwards.

I turned towards her, because I wanted her, wanted this.

I was powerless to stop it.

I had no fight left.

***

It was late by the time we got back to Bella's golf cart, later than both of us expected the night to end. I insisted on driving, and for once, she didn't argue. She climbed inside, never once letting go of my hand.

I had all but shut down my hormonal self for nine months, and it floored me how quickly something like that could change. We only lasted two seconds in that stupid golf cart before I was kissing her again, my hands relentless in their travels, savoring every curve of her small, slender body.

This wasn't a one-sided affair, though. She clearly wanted it, too, her mouth hot and wet against my own. These weren't chaste, friendly kisses. They were deep and urgent, the result of nine long months of utter repression. It wasn't long before my dick remembered how to operate.

At that point, I backed off. I leaned back in the seat, breathing hard, raking my hand through my hair to shake off some of the sweat. Bella's skin had flushed a deep, sultry pink, and she blushed even more when I turned to smirk at her.

"Don't be so smug," she said, but her shy smile gave her away.

"Getting hot and bothered over there?"

She rolled her eyes. "You wish."

My eyes widened at the implication, and she quickly turned her head. Did I want to see her truly hot and bothered? Fuck yes, but that wasn't happening. Once you saw someone naked, there was no going back. Kissing was harmless, innocent, nothing you couldn't recover from if someone regretted it later…

"I think I should take you home before your dad comes after me with a shotgun," I said, awkwardly changing the subject.

She nodded, resting her hands in her lap. "Didn't you want to talk?" she asked.

I swallowed hard, retracting my hand from that little black button. As much as I liked to pretend that plan had flown out the window at some point during the night, it had followed us here like a third, uninvited guest.

"I guess," I said. We were both staring ahead, comforted by the stark, endless night. Its silence, at least, was a comfort to me.

"Does this…does this feel wrong to you, Jasper?"

There was so much pain on her face, so much longing; it made me sick to my stomach to know I had caused it. I should have just let this play out, should have left it alone, should have begged for her forgiveness and nothing more.

"Sometimes," I said, because that was the truth. And she deserved that, as much as I abhorred myself for saying it.

"Me, too," she whispered.

She turned toward me, her legs dangling in the space between us. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to bring Edward back to her, to erase every trace of regret from her beautiful, innocent face.

"I really like you, Bella," I said, cursing myself for the slight tremor in my voice. "I wasn't just saying that."

"I like you, too," she said.

"Well…"

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, what?" she asked.

"Well, that word has a lot of different meanings."

She sighed, her gaze falling from mine. "I guess it does," she said.

"What does it mean for you?" I asked.

It took a few seconds for her to look up again, but when she did, I saw nothing but truth in her eyes. "It means I like you…in a different way than I did before."

I took a deep breath, digesting her words. I felt the exact same way, which both consoled and terrified me.

"I'm attracted to you," I said.

I could see her muscles tense, her shoulders rising a fraction of an inch closer to her neck. When she exhaled a shallow, shaky breath, the sound went straight to my groin. I shifted in my seat and tried to think about something else.

"I'm attracted to you, too," she said.

"Okay, well, now that that's out in the open—"

She placed her hand on my wrist, stifling my weak attempt to change the subject and drive home. I knew this was hopeless. I think we both did.

"What should we do?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, trying and failing to distract myself from the divine sensation of her fingers on my arm. Instead I just kept thinking about ravishing her in the back of this golf cart, or at least driving home so I could jerk off.

I shook my head in a desperate attempt to ward off those kinds of thoughts. I couldn't sleep with Bella, I couldn't fantasize about her naked…

"I really should get you home," I said, managing a weak smile.

"Okay," she said.

We didn't get very far.

***

The golf cart, as it turned out, had its limits. It sputtered to a stop a few blocks from my house, which gave us no choice but to walk the rest of the way. As usual, the windows were dark and the driveway empty. I could drive Bella home using my mom's car, but we'd have to go inside to get the keys. If she were any other woman, I'd have no problem fooling around on the couch or in my bed or even on the floor. But she wasn't just any woman, and I had already nixed that idea way back in kindergarten. For that reason, I didn't really want to take her inside; I didn't need that kind of temptation.

"I'll grab the keys," I said, as I opened the door to let us in.

"Okay," she replied, scanning the foyer as if she'd never seen it before. I hustled into the kitchen, my sights set on the little key hanger by the phone.

As if my life could get any more complicated, someone had taken the keys.

"Shit," I muttered. It was just after midnight, and it didn't seem right to walk all the way to her house at this time of night. I'd just have to ask her to call her dad, and she could explain what happened.

"Jasper?" she asked, her voice soft, breathy.

I cleared my throat, slightly embarrassed by the gravelly tone of my voice when I finally managed to spit some words out. "Um, yeah?" I asked.

"My dad's not even home," she said. "He's not, like, waiting up for me or anything."

"He's not?"

She shook her head. "He went on a fishing trip for a few days."

"Oh," I said, realizing just how deep my predicament had become. I glanced at the calendar to see "CONFERENCE IN DALLAS" in big black letters scrawled across this week's dates. In high school, I would have been jumping up and down at this opportunity. But now, in the company of a woman I wanted but couldn't have, I just stood there in silence.

"I mean, I can walk…"

"No," I said, cutting her off. "No, definitely not. You can crash here. No problem."

"Are you sure—"

"Psh, don't be ridiculous," I said, waving her off. "You've slept over here, what, a thousand times?"

She smiled, but it was just as nervous as mine. We both knew that under normal circumstances, this "sleepover" wouldn't involve a whole lot of sleeping.

"Okay," she said.

"You can, um, have the guest room."

"Okay," she said again, and now she was chewing on that bottom lip.

She followed me upstairs and into the guest room, which had the typical spare room feel: a stiff, unused bed with white sheets and a drab color on the walls. I had never offered a girl pajamas before—my dress shirts had always done the job—but I couldn't exactly have Bella walking around in my boxers. So I rummaged through my sister's old room and found Bella something to wear.

"Thanks," she said, taking the folded shorts and t-shirt into her arms.

"You should break that habit, you know," I smirked. She quirked her eyebrow, clearly mystified.

"What habit?"

"You chew on your bottom lip when you're nervous."

She blushed a deep, pulsing red, which said everything we both were thinking. Without a word, she took a step forward and dropped the clothes at our feet, and just like that the charade was broken. Within seconds I had her wrapped around my hips, one hand under her ass and the other snaked around the nape of her neck. I kissed her hard this time, nothing like the first one or even the second. It was urgent and reckless, like trying to snuff out an all-consuming flame.

I carried her down the hall and into my bedroom, guided by memory because my senses were obliterated. I was drowning in her. The corner of my brain trying to resist this—resist her—had succumbed to the taste of her mouth, the slender curves of her hips, the lush scent of her hair. She whimpered as I backed her against the wall, my lips never leaving the smooth expanse of her skin. I knew if I actually entered my room, I'd have her on my bed in seconds and whatever shred of control I had left would be lost.

"Don't stop," she breathed, as I continued my trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. She pulled her sweater off in one swift, fluid motion, revealing a barely-there black bra. The skin above her breasts was a smooth, milky white, untouched by the sun or anyone else for a very long time. I tried not to think about that because if I did, I knew I'd hate myself forever for touching Edward's girl.

So I didn't think. I just did. It was raw and rampant and frantic, the way I moaned into her mouth and drove her hips into mine. We were still almost completely clothed, but my whole body was aching for release and so was she. I slipped my hand from her neck down to her breasts, my fingers teasing the sensitive skin, traveling further and further down. I could almost feel how soaking wet she must have been by now and how ready and how much she wanted me to fuck all those painful memories out of her system. But the second my fingers hit the soft, cottony fabric hiding under her jeans, I froze.

I stumbled back and turned away from her. A thousand different apologies—to her, to Edward, to Alice—rose to my lips, but nothing came out except a rasp of air.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice thick with tears and emotions and the unmistakable sting of rejection. I spun around, grasping her by the arms before she could sprint down the hall and out the door.

"Tell me I'm not a replacement," I said, searching for the truth in her wet brown eyes. She looked down at the floor, her lip quivering as she summoned the truth, whatever it was.

"No one can replace him, Jasper," she whispered, her shoulders sagging as if she'd just exhaled her last breath. "I'll always be broken."

She didn't bother to wipe the tears from her cheeks; for what felt like hours, neither one of us moved at all. I was still reeling from making such an unfair, unprovoked demand. Had that always been my reason for resisting her? Was I really that selfish?

"You're anything but broken," I said, tilting her chin up so she would look me in the face. I meant that from the bottom of my fucking heart, and if she didn't know that, then I had to find a way to get it through to her. Even if that meant letting her go, or finding her another guy, or walking out of her life forever, I'd find that way.

"Not with you," she said, her voice so quiet it died in her throat. "You're the only reason I survived that nightmare—"

"_I'm_ the reason they died," I snorted, averting her gaze. "I'm the only reason they died that night, Bella. And I'm the reason you almost died, too."

She took a step forward, placing her tiny hands on my chest like two forces of will. "You _saved_ me, Jasper. You saved me when you called me everyday for three months, when you showed up on my porch, when you refused to let me go. _You_ are the reason I'm alive today. Don't you ever fucking forget that." I snapped my eyes up to meet her gaze, her eyes smoldering with a renewed fire. "Edward is irreplaceable, but so are you. Don't ever ask me to replace one with the other, how could I ever do that…"

"I'm sorry, Bella," I whispered, pulling her into my arms. I stroked her hair as she cried without shame, without frustration, something I hadn't seen her do since she begged for Edward's life on a dark and lonely road.

We fell asleep a while later, her soft sobs giving way to a quiet, restful sleep. Sometime in the night as the wind rattled the windows and the sun began its ascent over the trees, two words filtered through my consciousness. They were soft and breathless, maybe hers or maybe my imagination. Or maybe, if I believed in that kind of thing, something else.

"You're forgiven."

***

***


	10. Seven

**A/N: **Well, this chapter is a bit, um, intense. More so than usual. But you knew it was coming, right?

Also, just to clarify, there was no lemonade to be had in Chapter 9.5, if you know what I mean. If you don't know what I mean, no one is getting it on right now except, well, married people. That wasn't a fade to black. I'M NOT SM GOD SHE SUCKS FOR DOING THAT. If people do the nasty, you'll know it.

Number Seven is not explicitly named in this chapter, but it's there.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. When I get fewer reviews than the previous chapter I get this feeling I've messed up, but maybe that's just my insecurities talking. In any case, please review and let me know how much you hate/like/feel ambivalent about this story. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 10

**BPOV**

_It didn't surprise me when Edward and Jasper decided to do the fraternity thing, but it didn't thrill me either. I wasn't the sorority girl type, whatever that meant. But when rush week rolled around and the peer pressure began to build, I suddenly found myself trying to impress a gaggle of prospective "sisters." It had everything to do with Edward and Jasper, the only people in this godforsaken state I trusted. They wanted me to join the Greek scene, so I did._

_Pi Beta Phi had their first "social event" just after midterms. It was a crisp, clear night in October, typical weather for the eastern slope of the Rockies. I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt (without any makeup whatsoever), which drew a few disparaging glances from the other girls. I knew that in a few hours, after a night of boozing and hazing and other degrading activities, they wouldn't care what I was wearing or even who I was. _

_No one seemed to notice my lousy mood as they ushered twenty of us inside the massive house and launched into a whole mess of pointless questions. I kept thinking of Edward and Jasper across the street, doing whatever crazy things frat boys do. I didn't like the image, to be honest. I kept picturing strippers and keg stands and wall-to-wall porn._

"_It's Bella, right?" someone asked me, her soft little voice carrying over the din of the room. She took the seat beside me, a breathless smile on her face. _

"_Um, yeah," I said. "Are you, um, rushing or whatever?"_

_She nodded. "This sorority seems like one of the nicer ones."_

"_Nicer ones?"_

"_Well, I hear that some of the sororities are known for, well, sluttiness."_

_I felt my eyebrows shoot up. Did Edward know about this? _

_Who was I kidding? Of course he did. I groaned, this time loud enough for a few people to hear._

"_Don't worry," she said. "I don't think the girls here are like that."_

"_Mmhm," I mumbled, feeling worse by the second. After the rushing thing ended, all the sororities and frats would converge at some kind of party on the other side of campus. I didn't want to show up there and see some "slut" molesting my boyfriend._

"_I'm Alice, by the way," she said. I looked over at her and managed a small, tentative smile. Her hands were tiny but her grip was strong, and when she shook my hand, I felt a little better.  
_

_***_

_Copious amounts of alcohol followed the inane questions, which continued long into the night. To distract myself from the misery of it all, I drowned myself in rum and cokes and idle conversation. Alice, much to my surprise (and relief), stuck by me all night. We were polar opposites in almost every way, but for the first time since I'd started college, I felt like I finally remembered why every girl needs girlfriends._

_My vision was muddied and my brain had clouded over by the time we stumbled outside into the night. I didn't even remember the walk to the party; every passing minute seemed to recede into some kind of void. I started to wonder how much of this I'd remember tomorrow. Probably not a whole lot._

_I followed Alice through the crowd, searching for more booze. That seemed to be the theme of the night, which made sense given all the social lubrication going on. I had never been drunk before; except for one mistaken sip in high school, I'd never even consumed alcohol. This was new to me, and more than a little bit unsettling._

_I stumbled over my feet as I walked, apologizing to Alice and random strangers as I made my way to the back porch. Someone handed me a beer—a guy, a girl, I couldn't really say. I tried scanning the crowd for Edward or Jasper, but my vision wouldn't focus and my mind wouldn't clear. _

_When the haze finally did wear off—at least enough for me to form a coherent thought—I found myself sitting in someone's bedroom with two other girls and three guys. They were handing me fizzy orange drinks, which looked appetizing but reeked of vodka. I didn't recognize the girls, nor the guys. _

_It was then that I started to panic._

_I stood up, wobbling as I rose to my feet. "Hey honey, where you going?" one of the guys asked, his voice thick with cheap whiskey._

"_Um, home," I said. "I'm tired."_

"_I'll walk you," he said._

_I shook my head. "It's okay," I said, but my words sounded all garbled._

"_I insist." He stood up, grabbing hold of my arm as I stepped back. The other people in the room were clearly wasted, and therefore not interested in my futile attempts to leave. When I took another step back, his grip tightened so much I could feel the blood vessels bursting beneath my skin._

"_Please," I mumbled._

"_Please what?" he snarled._

"_Please get the fuck away from my girlfriend," Edward raged, barreling into the room like a crazy person. He swung the door open so hard it nearly flung itself off the hinges. As my head cleared and Edward's beautiful, familiar face came into focus, I took the opportunity to knee the guy in the nuts. I'd probably just done him a favor since Edward had that look in his eyes that said, 'yes, you are going to die.'_

_I placed my hands on Edward's chest, pushing him gently backwards. His eyes were a dark, searing shade of green, and it was the most animalistic I had ever seen him. His anger crackled in the room, his energy so palpable it made time stand still._

"_Edward," I said, my voice hushed, almost pleading. I didn't want him terrorizing everyone in the room, although I had no doubt that he would, if given the chance. So I pushed a little harder, and it was only after he looked into my eyes did his expression seem to soften._

"_This is so _fucking_ unacceptable, Bella. That piece of shit almost—"_

"_I know," I said, pushing him out the door. We stood there at the top of the stairs, Edward heaving with rage and disgust and something else._

_Something like fear._

"_I was almost too late," he said, his eyes darting from me to the door. He ran his hands through his thick bronze hair, rearranging its chaos. His gaze finally settled on me again, and the fear I saw there was raw and real._

"_He was probably harmless," I said, shaking it off. "Just had too much to drink—"_

"_Bella," he railed, cutting me off. "Do you know what I would have done if he had actually hurt you? If I'd come in ten minutes later? If I'd seen him, if anything ever happened to you__—__"  
_

"_I'm the one who messed up, Edward! I drank too much and didn't know anyone here and it's my own fault..."_

"_It doesn't matter," he sighed, his voice falling to a near-whisper. "I just couldn't... go on without you." He took another deep breath. "I'm so afraid..."_

"_Afraid of what?"_

_He exhaled, the last of his rage slipping from his shoulders. "Of losing you. Of failing you somehow."_

_A lump rose in my throat. "You won't," I whispered._

"_I never thought I'd be afraid of anything until I met you. You know that? It messes with my psyche or something."_

_I stood on my toes and kissed him softly, sweetly, because there were times like these when words were nothing more than empty promises. He understood that, always had, and when he kissed me back, I felt it, too. _

_"I'll never leave you, Edward. You're stuck with me."_

_His smile was shy, almost sheepish, because for all that Edward had done to protect and encourage and support me, there were times when he needed me, too. "Good," he said, pulling me into him. "That's all I ever wanted."  
_

_***_

I woke up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by familiar arms. It didn't startle me like I thought it would; it seemed natural, almost overdue, that I should be waking up next to the person who brought me back to life again.

I leaned into him, a little smile making its way to my face as I studied his strong, distinctive features. I had always loved Jasper's smile, which echoed his quiet, but witty disposition. Nothing ever rattled him. His resolve was subtle, but unshakable. He took things as they came, and let go of the excess.

I kissed him softly so as not to wake him, and slid out of bed with as much grace as I could muster. My feet padded across the floor, down the steps and into the large, lavish kitchen. It took me no time to find the ingredients I needed; those kinds of things never changed. Everything was in its proper place, just as I remembered it.

An hour must have passed before Jasper wandered into the kitchen. He smiled mid-yawn when he saw me, up to my elbows in the most elaborate breakfast ever attempted.

"Can you come over every morning?" he smirked.

I rolled my eyes. "You'd get tired of my cooking."

"I highly doubt that." He stole a glance in my direction before sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes as the weak sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was just after eight—early for Jasper, apparently.

"Work today?" I asked.

"Unfortunately," he grumbled. "God I hate the nine to five."

"How's work going?"

"It's okay," he said. "I don't mind hospitals the way most people do."

I sat down and sipped my coffee. I always woke up at six, made breakfast, drank hot, bitter coffee and did the crossword. Today was a little different, but somehow much the same. The ease of our routine surprised me.

"How's the French toast?" I asked.

"Do you seriously have to ask?"

"It's been a while since I made it for you."

"Yeah," he said, his lips curling up in a smile. "And that's a tragedy."

I stood up to get him more coffee, but he grasped my wrist, keeping me in my seat. "Let me do _something_, Bella."

"You can eat," I said.

He sighed, relenting. "I'll have to make this up to you."

_Haven't you already?_ I thought. _In a thousand different ways?_

I walked over to the counter, my eye catching an empty bottle by the coffee pot. I wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for his name on the front. But even before I could process the thought, he seemed to read my mind.

"I, uh, saw Dr. Cullen a while ago, when I was having those insurance problems," he explained.

"For pain medication?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Just some refills."

"Then who is Dr. Demetrius?"

His eyes snapped to mine. A hint of tension seemed to ripple through his features, drowning the smile on his face. "Just a colleague of his," he said.

"Where?"

"Port Angeles."

"Why'd you see him?"

He took a long sip of coffee and set it down. "It doesn't really matter, Bella."

"Well, I'm worried."

And I _was_ worried, very worried, but not about the mysterious doctor in Port Angeles. I was worried about the fact that Jasper, who couldn't tell a lie if his life depended on it, seemed to be hiding something.

"Don't be," he said, wincing as he stood up. He walked over to me, his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes trained on the little bottle in my hands.

"Jasper—"

"It's really nothing, Bella," he said—or rather, pleaded. I could see it in his warm blue eyes, the attempt at deceit that withered into nothing more than sheer desperation.

I stood up a little straighter, clenching the bottle in my hands. "It is something. Don't lie to me. You've never, _ever_ lied to me."

"I'm not lying!" he said, as he sidestepped me and leaned his head against the window.

"Then what is this for?"

He sighed, waving haphazardly at the bottle. "It's Vicodin. It's just a painkiller."

"You're still taking Vicodin? Isn't that stuff really strong?"

"I guess," he muttered.

"Does your back still hurt that much?"

He stepped away from the glass, shuffling toward me like a man on his way to his execution. I put the bottle back on the counter, and there it remained, like a reluctant audience.

"Don't worry about me, Bella."

"Why can't I worry about you? Don't you worry about me?"

"All the time," he said, his voice quiet, resigned.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

He reached for the bottle, swirling its contents in his strong, trembling hands. He shook his head, his eyes trained on something in the distance, something I couldn't see or understand.

***

Jasper was, and always had been, an independent person. He did things on his own time, in his own way. In the sixth grade, he'd gone two weeks with a broken right wrist, taking tests and doing homework in agony.

His idea of suffering, like everything else, reflected that independence. If he needed help, he went as long as he possibly could without it until he simply couldn't function anymore. And I could tell, more by his silence than anything else, that he hadn't yet reached that point.

I didn't know much about Jasper's physical condition, nor did I have any right to ask. Even if I went straight to Carlisle, I knew he wouldn't tell me anything. He couldn't, thanks to federal regulations about patient confidentiality. But if I went to him as a friend looking for advice, or even just some peace of mind, maybe he could offer me that.

Jasper didn't say anything on his way to work that morning. He just let the subject drop after we'd finished breakfast and gone our separate ways. The status of our friendship/relationship was a whole other issue that remained buried, and I couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with that little orange bottle.

I knew Dr. Cullen worked at the clinic downtown, but I didn't want to risk seeing Jasper there. So I called the Cullen household that afternoon, relieved to hear Esme's voice on the other end. Carlisle had always intimidated me, in that paternal doctor kind of way.

"Hello?" came her warm, familiar voice.

"Hi Esme, it's Bella. How are you?"

"Bella! I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages."

I smiled to myself. I'd just spoken to her a couple days ago, but she always said the same thing. "I know," I said. "We should talk more often."

"Well, you know you're welcome to come by any time."

"Actually…I was wondering if I could come by maybe this weekend. I had a question I wanted to ask Carlisle."

"Oh, of course! We'll both be home this weekend. How about Sunday for dinner? Charlie is of course welcome to come."

"I think he'll be down in La Push on Sunday, but I'll relay the message. I can definitely come, though."

"Sounds wonderful," she said. "See you then."

***

A giant spread of Esme's culinary delights greeted me on Sunday evening. I had spoken to Jasper a few times since Thursday, but he was visiting family in Seattle for the weekend. And so it was just me and the Cullens sitting around their dining room table, an incomplete picture in just about every way.

In a lot of ways, eating with the Cullens was more natural and less awkward than dining at home. We talked about everything, including the past. Including Edward. But when Jasper came up in conversation, I quickly changed the subject. It wasn't quite guilt that twisted my stomach; it was something else, something new and unexpected. I should have known that Carlisle would notice it, not only because he knew me as well as anyone, but because he spent his life reading people.

So it was Carlisle—and not me, since I was clearly spineless—who pulled me aside while Esme checked on dessert. I tried to meet his kind, sky blue eyes, but found myself faltering every time I looked up. Carlisle, though, had the patience of a pre-school teacher.

"You're worried about him," he said. "I can see that, Bella."

I glanced up at him with a quiet, despairing sigh. "Did you see him a couple months ago? About the insurance?"

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't really get into it."

"Oh," I mumbled. "The doctor-patient thing?"

He managed a small smile. "That's the one."

"Is he okay, though?"

"Why are you asking me, Bella? Did something happen?"

I put my hands on the table, folding them over the crisp white tablecloth. Esme had always had impeccable taste, but her house still felt cozy and lived-in. For some reason, though, the familiarity of who she was and what she valued didn't comfort me tonight.

"I found a bottle of pills with another doctor's name on it."

One eyebrow went up. "Hmm," he mused. "Well, I referred him to another orthopedist in Seattle."

"This wasn't Seattle. This was a guy named Demetrius in Port Angeles."

His brow creased just the slightest bit, crinkling the smooth lines of his face. "I don't know him," he said.

"It was for Vicodin…that's serious, right? I mean, his back must be in really bad shape—"

"Bella," he said, interrupting my senseless rambling. "As Jasper's doctor, I really can't say much in regards to his treatment, but this worries me."

"Me, too," I muttered. "I mean the pain is one thing, but don't people get addicted to those kinds of drugs?"

He nodded, his gaze finding mine with the same calm, unshakable resolve that reminded me of Edward. "I'll talk to him," he said.

***

I didn't see Jasper until that Friday, and the moment I saw him, I knew something had changed. Something major. Something that had hardened his soft blue eyes and his easy smile, and in those few seconds of recognition, I questioned if it was him at all.

He was standing outside the schoolhouse, soaked to the bone and shivering violently. I pulled my coat over my head and took a deep, stuttering breath, bracing myself for whatever altercation he had in mind. I had intervened. I had done something, and now he was here to chase me away.

I took a few steps, my white tennis shoes sinking in the mud. The children had all gone home, whisked away by the school bus on a Friday afternoon. It was just the two of us now; two former kindergarteners whose lives had somehow stayed on the same path into adulthood. I wondered now, for the second time in my life, if the time had come for our paths to diverge.

He didn't say a word as I approached, nor did he look away. He looked haggard, defeated. But his eyes shone with the raw, unmistakable burn of self-preservation.

"Jasper—"

"I told you it was nothing," he said, his voice dripping with anger, betrayal, and the faintest trace of hurt.

"I was worried."

"Worried about what?" he demanded.

"About you!"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "That's a waste of energy, Bella."

"If it's nothing, then why are you mad?"

His eyes snapped up, his expression hardening. I swallowed the lump in my throat, regretting the implication but knowing in some other way I had said the right thing.

"I'm not mad," he said, his voice flat, hollow. But it shook with anger, and it unnerved me because I had never in my life seen Jasper so enraged. In fact, I'd never seen him lose his temper, for as long as I'd known him.

I took a step forward, and he stepped back. "Yes you are."

"Don't do this," he said, his voice tinged with warning. "Just let it alone, Bella."

"I can't."

"You have to."

I shook my head, my voice quivering. I didn't want him to hear how weak I was, so I kept my mouth shut and dared him to question me.

"You think Carlisle can fix this?" he asked. "You think he can just chat with me in his office and turn my whole life around? It doesn't work that way, Bella. You, of all people, should know that."

I looked down at the ground, cursing the thickness in my throat and the tears in my eyes. How could I say anything to that? How could I argue with him about fixing people, when I was so clearly damaged?

"You're better than this, Jasper. You're better than—"

"Than what? A drug addict? Because that's _all _I am. I know Edward was better than this. I know he was stronger, always was, always would have been. _Would have been_. I'm such a fucking waste, Bella. Such a waste of his life, Alice's life, and your life. I took theirs and ruined yours—"

"Just stop!" I screamed, pushing him back with two small fists. He didn't move, didn't even react to my weak sobs as I stumbled past him. It took him a few seconds to catch up to me, to grasp me by the wrist and turn me around.

"Bella, I didn't mean—"

"I was trying to _help_ you," I railed, my voice so thick with tears and energy it was barely mine at all. "You think I'm the only one who deserves that privilege? You're really fucking selfish if you think that." I shook him off, my legs carrying me in shaky strides as I ran down the road toward home.

But since I was hopelessly uncoordinated, I tripped and fell and landed in a shallow pool of syrupy, brown mud. Jasper again reached out to help me up, and again I shook him off with a quick jerk of my elbow.

"Leave me alone," I seethed, as I picked myself up.

"Bella—"

I turned around to face him, my arms at my sides, my pants and shirt and wrists covered in mud. But he didn't notice any of those things; he looked into my eyes and nowhere else, as if he could apologize without words because to us, between us, words meant nothing anymore.

"I can't live like this anymore," he said. "I just…I just can't."

"Live like what?"

"I don't take it for the pain…it's not about that. The pain is a justifiable punishment for what I've done."

"It was an accident, Jasper," I said, the word catching in my throat. I winced at the sound of it, the memory of that night racing through my mind.

"Maybe," he muttered. "But I was driving, and I was the one who reached across the seat—"

"I don't care."

His eyes drifted downward, his voice low in his throat. "Then you're too forgiving."

"And this is your punishment, then? Accepting your fate as some kind of addict? That's really weak, you know that?"

"I know," he said, but the words were barely audible above the howl of the rain. "I know it's weak. It's the only way I can get through the days, is if there's this haze…"

"So I'm just a haze?"

He drew his eyes up to mine, a silent plea resting on his lips. "No," he breathed. "You're the only thing in my life that's real anymore."

"You need more than that," I said. "You are so much more than that, Jasper."

He shook his head and stepped back, releasing my arms. "What if I'm not?"

"You know I would do anything for you, if I could." I crossed my arms over my chest, choking on rain as I breathed it in. "But I can't answer that for you. I can't make fear just go away."

He didn't argue, didn't say another word. And even though it took everything I had to take that first step, and then another, and then to walk down that road in a rare demonstration of self-reliance, I didn't look back.

I only looked forward.

***

***


	11. Eight

**A/N:** So I know Number Seven wasn't overtly stated in the last chapter, but it will be in this one. However, the theme of this chapter is Number Eight.

I worked with a lot of schizophrenics, and this conversation/interaction is very close to one I had with an actual patient. It's a serious disease, and I always try to be accurate in depicting something that deserves proper respect.

Same goes for prescription drug addiction (I have much less experience with this one), and Emmett's issue. I try to avoid specific details because I'm not an expert, and I don't want people thinking I know something I don't.

Thank you so much for reading.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

--

FORGIVEN

Chapter 11

**JPOV**

_As a rule, I despised hospitals. My dad spent the vast majority of his waking hours there, so as a kid, I had always hated the place that occupied so much of his time. When I started college, I made a concerted effort to steer clear of anything and everything related to medicine. But it's strange. Sometimes your career finds you anyway._

_That word "career" didn't hold much meaning for most sophomores. And so I didn't give it much thought when I decided to major in biology and then ended up volunteering in some kind of loony bin. One-hundred eighty-four people with schizophrenia lived in this place, although technically you could come and go if you wanted. It wasn't like one of those creepy institutions you see on TV, but it definitely had enough craziness to go around._

_I can't even say how I started working there, but I remember the day everything changed. You always remember those days—you think about them, dream about them, and sometimes, they actually happen. It happened for me on a cool spring day in April, when I was sitting in the cafeteria, trying to convince a seventy-year-old veteran that the short-order cooks were not plotting to kill him. I was making a speech about paranoia when a very tiny, very attractive girl sat next to me, her hazel eyes glimmering with the patience I so clearly lacked. _

"_Hi," she said, to the both of us. Stanley looked over at her, and I could see the admiring look in his eyes. Apparently Stanley and I had more in common than I thought._

"_Hi," I said, my brain registering her vaguely familiar face, like a very pleasant dream I couldn't quite remember. "I'm Jasper, and uh, this is—"_

"_Stanley," he said, glowering at me. "I know my own name, kid."_

"_Sorry," I muttered. "I, um…"_

"_I'm Alice," she said. "It's nice to meet both of you." She held out her hand, which made me nervous given Stanley's total aversion to women and short-order cooks. But he shook her hand without a trace of his usual anxiety, and if something clicked with him, then it sure as hell clicked with me._

"_I save lives," Stanley said, his usual introduction to whoever would listen. Most people just rolled their eyes, but I knew he'd served in Vietnam. A lot of people here had, which was either tragic or inspiring._

"_Wow," Alice said. "I can't say the same, that's for sure."_

_It floored me when he met her gaze. The guy didn't trust anyone, least of all strangers. He ignored me completely, but in some bizarre corner of my brain, I felt as though this whole interaction was intended for me._

"_You just did," he said. "See that fucker over there?"_

_She glanced over toward the kitchen, where the line of underpaid cooks was flipping burnt burgers. "Yes," she said, without a hint of skepticism._

"_That shithead had his M-40 all set up and ready to blow my fucking head off, but then you walked in here and changed his mind."_

"_Why?" she asked, stealing a glance at me. Then she returned her attention to Stanley, who had taken his first bite of dinner in the company of cooks/assassins in three months._

"_Don't know," he said. "But every guy's got a soft spot. Right, kid?" He turned to me, addressing me in his usual droll tone. _

"_Yeah," I mumbled._

"_Well, hell," he said, savoring the few seconds of normalcy that had passed between us. "When you find it, don't let it go."_

_***_

I watched Bella go, because for the first time in a long time, it felt like the right thing to do. I felt sick. Physically, emotionally, mentally…I just wanted to reach into my gut with my own hands and wrench everything out. Not only had I targeted Bella—_Bella_—with my own fucking insecurities, I'd compared myself to Edward in the process. I didn't expect her to ever speak to me again. How could I? I was a coward, an asshole, and a true failure of a friend.

I looked down at my shoes, soaked and muddy and ruined from the trek over here. But I was quickly distracted by the piece of paper lying in the mud, its familiar lettering starting to smear. In a moment of shear panic, I dropped to the ground and fought the nausea churning in my stomach.

It was Edward's list—wet, crumpled, and almost certainly ruined. I tucked it into my jacket and rushed home, wracking my brain for construction-paper-salvage techniques. When I got there, I laid it out on the kitchen table and worked for hours to bring that list back to life.

I stared at it while it dried, thinking of nothing but Edward and Bella and why she hadn't called to see if I'd found it.

And then it clicked—clicked like one of those moments when things just make sense, like riding a bike or meeting the love of your life.

Number Seven was unlike the others. He had written NO FEAR in big red letters, like a challenge to anyone who dared to question him. There were no pictures, no elaborate scenes of planets or duels or airplanes. It was just the words, seeping into the page like a spattering of blood. They screamed at me, drove right through me, until all I could see or hear or understand was fear, as if it were its own living entity.

Bella had, in every way, made her promise to Edward. Her fears, her insecurities, her self-doubt…those things had given way to a stronger, more independent person. And yet here I was, drowning in my own problems, dismissing her every attempt to help me because I was too weak to accept the fact that I needed it.

I flew up the stairs two-by-two, my muscles twitching, my back flaring with the dull, familiar pain. I ignored it. Instead I went to the bathroom, my bedroom, the kitchen, and even the basement to retrieve every single bottle of those fucking pills.

I wasn't usually one for dramatics, but I knew Edward would have appreciated it. I lit up the fireplace, dumped out the pills, and tossed them in.

I thought of those red, angry letters as the pills crackled in the flames.

I watched them burn.

***

I lasted two days.

I showed up at Carlisle's office on Monday morning, feeling as though I had spent the entire weekend burning at the stake. It was my stake, of course—self-inflicted, and well-deserved. And here I was, reeling from the aftermath.

He pulled up at seven o'clock, an hour after I'd arrived. He took one look at me and ushered me inside, saying nothing because there was nothing to say. After last week's sobering conversation, he had no doubt seen this coming.

"I'm glad you're back, Jasper," he said. "I have to admit I didn't think it would be so soon."

I collapsed into the seat, wishing for the thousandth time that hour I could just disappear into some kind of void. "I talked to Bella," I mumbled through clenched teeth.

"I had a feeling," he said, and if there was any subtext behind those words, I didn't catch it. "When did you take the last pill?"

"Friday night."

"And nothing since then?"

"No."

"We're not doing the tapering method this time," he said. "Although I have to tell you that's probably the least unpleasant."

"Whatever…" I half-said, half-moaned.

"Here," he urged, handing me a pill and a glass of water. I didn't question it; I just swallowed it down, grateful for the tiny sliver of hope it provided. "This won't be easy, but I think you know that."

"I know," I mumbled.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "Can I just…sit here a while?"

Carlisle never sat in the chair behind his desk; in fact, he didn't even have one there during office hours. Instead he sat beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his voice firm, but reassuring. Somewhere along the line, this man had perfected the art of compassion. Or maybe he just had a soft spot for people in need. I knew people like that. I knew them, and I envied them.

"Do you miss him?" I asked, after a while. The question had simply drifted into my consciousness, along with those angry red letters and the promise they held.

"Everyday," he said. "But there's meaning in everything."

"You really believe that?"

"I couldn't be a doctor if I didn't believe that."

Neither of us said anything for a while, and it was the sound of my cell phone that shook me from my pain-induced haze. Carlisle's phone rang just seconds later, and for the second time that day, something clicked.

But this time, I didn't want to believe it.

***

We walked across the street to the hospital, which looked especially dreary on this particular morning. The Monday staff had started filtering in, filling the hall with zombie-like nurses, doctors, and even patients. I followed Carlisle to the emergency department, where we found Emmett on a cot and Rosalie standing beside him. His skin was a pale, bloodless white, and when he breathed, it rattled in his chest like a broken radiator.

I wanted to scream, to throw things, to rail against a God I'd never really believed in anyway. I looked at Rosalie, who refused to cry, and then at Emmett, who looked like he wanted to tell a few jokes to lighten the mood but couldn't take a deep enough breath to do so. I looked at Carlisle, surrounded by all the medicine and technology and conviction in the world, none of which could save Emmett McCarty. I looked at all those things, and cried instead.

I walked out of that room, frustrated by my utter breakdown. And then I glimpsed the devastated face of a friend, a survivor; I saw her and I broke all over again.

She looked like my mother all those months ago, her expression haunted by the promise of bad news, her eyes red with tears. And just like my father had done, I took her in my arms and hugged the hell out of her.

"Is he okay?" she croaked. "Rosalie called me and I came over as soon as I could but she wouldn't tell me anything on the phone—"

"It's not good, Bella. You know Rosalie…she doesn't sugarcoat anything."

"What did she say?"

I sighed, angling my back toward the door so as not to be overheard. Even though Rosalie always demanded the most bare-boned assessment of things, I didn't want to risk saying something that might upset her.

"It's end-stage now, which means he'll die without a transplant."

She shook her head, her gaze falling to the floor. "A transplant? But those are almost impossible…"

"He's at the top of the list," I said, although even to my own ears that didn't sound very encouraging. Emmett had a rare blood type, not to mention a serious shortage of time. It didn't look good. In fact, it looked hopeless.

Hopeless…

Fuck, I hated that word.

"What are the chances?" she asked, hope creeping into her voice, her eyes, her beautiful face. I hated to crush all that optimism, so I said nothing.

"Jasper…"

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

***

I sat awake in the waiting room sometime that night, long after Bella had drifted off to sleep on my shoulder. Rosalie came out to join me sometime after midnight, and even in the midst of such hell, she looked strong and composed. If not for the dark circles under her eyes, you would never know her husband was dying in the next room.

"Thanks for staying," she said. She sat down on the stiff, overused couch, and for a few seconds just closed her eyes.

"I'm pregnant," she said, her eyes still closed. She said it in a flat, even tone, almost as if she were reporting on the weather. It took me a few seconds to register what she was talking about.

"You are? Wow. I mean, that's great, Rosalie. Congrats."

"Yeah," she said, her voice hoarse from all the crying, but otherwise uninspired.

"Look, Rose, I know there isn't anything I can possibly say right now to change anything, but you can't just give up on him."

She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. She didn't move, didn't even seem to react. "I can't raise a kid on my own. Trying for a baby was a stupid fucking idea," she said.

"You won't be alone."

She turned to me, finally, her eyes finding mine in the sterile light of the room. "He's everything to me, Jasper. Everything."

"I know the feeling."

I didn't say anything for a few seconds after that, and neither did she. She just let the words sink in, hearing them as much as feeling them. I knew she understood, but I wished with every fiber of my being that she didn't have to.

"How'd you do it?" she asked.

I took a deep breath, wrapping my coat around Bella as she stirred in her sleep. "I haven't really done it," I said. "If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a mess."

She smiled, acknowledging the lightness in my tone. I smiled, too, and for a moment at least, the mood lifted.

"Yeah, you and your pity parties," she said. "I hate those."

"It's okay to throw them once in a while, though. I mean, it's okay to hate life."

"I hate it right now," she said. "I really do."

She leaned into me, resting her head on my other shoulder. Was it wrong to hate life for taking people away, but to cherish it for bringing others back to me? It was a fine line, really. A very fine line indeed.

"You won't be alone," I said again, and within minutes, two of my closest, oldest friends were asleep on my shoulders.

***

Carlisle woke us up at dawn the next morning, shaking us awake as a herd of people rushed in and out of Emmett's room. My heart almost flew out of my chest at the sight of it, and the only thing that calmed me down—aside from Carlisle's futile attempts to explain everything—was the silence of the alarms. If Emmett had suddenly stopped breathing, I figured there would be sirens blaring and people yelling and Code Blues sounding over the speakers. But there was none of that. Nothing but an eerie, quiet chaos that filtered through the air.

"They're transferring him to UW," Carlisle said. "The transplant surgeon in Seattle is one of the best—"

Finally I turned my attention back to him, back to the startling truth in his steady, commanding voice. "Surgeon?" I asked.

He nodded, and I knew. _There's meaning in everything,_ he seemed to say.

***

Those words didn't really sink in until weeks later, when Emmett had finally recovered enough to come home. He looked healthier than he had in months, and it wasn't long before Emmett was talking about the Keg Stand Party of the Year. When that party happened on a balmy Saturday in March, he didn't partake in the keg, but he did spend most of the time talking to three people I'd never met.

Emmett's ordeal had taken my mind off my own issues, but only temporarily. It took me the full month to deal with the withdrawal, most of it spent in utter seclusion, and Emmett's party was my first attempt to rejoin society.

I saw Rosalie first, standing in the kitchen, mixing up her usual assortment of addictive appetizers. She smiled when she saw me, a wide, carefree grin that suited her much better than the sad smile in that waiting room.

"Crab wedgie?" she asked, holding out a mess of crab and cheese and bread. I nodded, smiling as I washed that sucker down with a cold beer. She wasn't drinking, but she insisted I take advantage of the keg.

"Mmm, this is good," I said. "Damn. What's in this?"

"Some goodies," she said. "So, then. How's life?"

"My life?" I pretended to think about it, although there was only one thing on my mind. And that "thing" was standing on the patio, enjoying an unseasonably warm afternoon.

"Have you talked to her?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Don't fuck with me," she said, her voice sharp, but also teasing.

I shook my head. "No, not about...that."

"Why not?"

"I said some things a while ago…I overreacted to something."

"Water under the bridge," she said. "Get over it."

I shook my head. "It's not that easy, Rose."

"It's not like you're sleeping with her. I mean, that's a whole different story—"

"Wait, what?"

She raised an eyebrow so high I thought it might hit her hairline. "You're _sleeping_ with her?"

"Um, no. I mean, she slept at my place once…"

"Have you kissed her?"

I felt my face get hot, which never happened and was therefore a dead giveaway. I had always assumed Emmett had shared our conversation with his wife; wasn't that what married people did?

"Um…"

Her smile vanished. "When?"

"You sound like Emmett," I mumbled.

"You told Emmett?! And he didn't tell me? I'm going to rip him a new asshole—"

"Hold up," I said, glancing outside to make sure Bella didn't wander inside and overhear this conversation. "I told him but it only happened twice, and he was just giving me advice."

"You asked Emmett for advice?"

I stood there in silence for a few seconds, wondering how the hell I had gotten myself into this situation. And yes, it sounded pretty ridiculous that I had at one point gone to Emmett for advice.

"Maybe," I muttered. "But the point is that it's over, because Bella is Edward's girlfriend and it isn't right."

"Jasper, Edward's gone."

"So?"

"So at some point in life, you get over yourself and move on."

"But what if Bella hasn't moved on?"

She shrugged, but her hard stare never wavered. "What if you spend the rest of your life asking yourself that question?"

As if on cue, the door swung open and Bella walked inside. She looked at Rosalie and then at me, her eyes a soft, discerning brown, her smile from a different conversation lingering on her lips. Rosalie gave me a sharp little glance and disappeared into the living room, as I knew she would.

"Crab wedgie?" I asked, gesturing toward the vast array of crabby delights. Bella shook her head, her smile tentative, but heartfelt.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "I know the last month..."

"Was rough," I admitted, thinking of the long days, the even longer nights, of learning to live without a crutch. Bella had respected my determination to recover on my own terms, but she hadn't accepted the whole "intense seclusion" thing either. Every single day she had come over, sometimes to talk, sometimes just to be there. I wanted to thank her, to repay her, to tell her in a million different ways that I was weak and she was strong, that I couldn't have done this without her. But she would have shook her head, would have smiled that sad, lovely smile, which gave me the sense that the gratitude I felt was returned a thousand-fold.

"Is everything okay with you?" I asked.

She nodded, her gaze drifting toward the woman and her two sons, who were listening with rapt attention to Emmett's football stories. "I was just talking to those people over there."

"Who are they?"

"Her husband passed away a month ago," she said. "He's the reason Emmet's here."

Her eyes met mine, a deep silence settling between us. I thought about the list, dried out and muddy but still intact, with Number Eight in crisp yellow letters: SAVE LIF. It was eerily prophetic in a way, something I hadn't thought about now, something I hadn't considered was even possible. But Alice and Edward had given that gift to someone, to more than one person, and somewhere out there a young guy like Emmett McCarty was living his life because Edward Cullen was not. It was either terribly unfair, or terribly poetic. I liked to think it was the latter.

"I never wanted to meet them, you know?" she continued. "The people who Edward saved…I just couldn't stand the thought of someone else living because he died. It didn't seem fair. You never hear about the people that die. You just hear about the people who get the heart or the lungs or some other piece of an anonymous donor…"

She shook her head, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. "I wonder if those people who benefited…wherever they are...I wonder if they think about him."

"You _wonder_?" I asked, knowing the answer as well as she did. When I reached for her hands in a gesture that seemed small and simple, but somehow right, she hugged me instead.

"They do," she said. "I know they do."

***

***

**A/N: **Emmett's diagnosis is HCM. Google it - a lot of young athletes have died from this condition. Heart transplants are a last resort, but often successful.

I tried to convey the fact that Edward was also an organ donor to various anonymous people. I hope this was clear.

As always, thank you for reading. :)


	12. Nine

**A/N:** Both quotes in this chapter are attributed to Gandhi, who is also invoked in the Remember Me trailer. That was kind of a coincidence. I do like Rob's voice, though.

I love you all for reading. Thank you for sticking with me and my angstiness.

Anyway, on to Number Nine...and ten? Tee hee.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 12

**BPOV**

_I looked at my diploma for the tenth time that minute, reading the name in thick black cursive as if it belonged to someone else. "Bella Marie Swan," it said, all official in its prominent lettering and company of signatures. But it still didn't feel right to me; it didn't feel like I was ready for graduation, or for life in general. I didn't want to abandon the familiar, even though it was ready to abandon me._

_Edward took my hand, running his fingers over the smooth rise of my knuckles. I leaned into him, savoring the touch and feel and warmth of a person who knew everything about me, and loved me anyway. I could leave this all behind: Colorado, classes, a routine. But without him, without the people in my life who gave me purpose, everything would crumble._

"_You worry too much," he said, bringing his other hand up to my chin. I drew my gaze up to his, comforted by the soft determination in his glorious green eyes._

"_I worry about change…I don't want anything to change."_

"_You said that when we graduated high school, too," he said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes, but he had a point._

"_Well, I'm boring," I teased. "I like the predictable."_

"_Life isn't always predictable."_

"_Thanks, Gandhi." _

_He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling my ear. It was a warm afternoon, but I shivered anyway. I could feel his smile against my skin as he whispered, "I love you."_

_I looked over at Jasper, who was twirling his tassel in his fingers while Alice listened with rapt attention to the valedictory speech. His eyes met mine, and when he smiled, I felt some of that future/life/graduation anxiety slip away. He had that gift, really. He had used it generously, unselfishly, for as long as I could remember.  
_

_I turned toward the podium and listened to the final words of the valedictory speech, the words mingling with the brisk mountain air. How appropriate, I thought, as the words of Mahatma Gandhi filtered into my consciousness, like a vague promise for an uncertain future._

"_Be the change you want to see in the world…"_

_I looked up at the sky and closed my eyes. Thousands of caps flew upwards into the crisp blue sky, suspended above us like a flock of birds. _

_I smiled at the freedom of it._

_At the possibilities._

_***_

Only three months had passed since Emmett's surgery, but it felt like years. I was standing on a massive stage, looking out onto a crowd of thousands. The Eastern slope of the Rockies rose behind me, a familiar backdrop to a familiar place. Jasper stood beside me, a constant source of support and encouragement. But this was my promise, my deliverance. No one could do this but me.

I lay the pages on the podium, smoothing out the edges and focusing on the bold type. I had memorized every word, but I wanted to have it just in case. Standing before so many people sometimes made you forget things.

After the brief introduction from the dean, I took a step forward and grasped the worn, sweaty pages. I took a deep breath, glanced over at Jasper, and forced those first few words from the back of my throat.

"When Edward Cullen was five-years-old, he made a list. It was a short list, dictated by his kindergarten teacher who was probably just looking for a way to keep him occupied."

Soft laughter rumbled through the crowd, which gave me time to take a deep, calming breath. I tried not to think about the thousands of people out there. I tried to think of nothing but Edward's list, and of honoring not just the person he was, but the man he had always wanted to be.

"The assignment was to write down ten things you wanted to do as a grown-up," I continued. "Most kindergarteners have lofty goals, and Edward was no exception. But his list is a testament to the beauty of childhood innocence, of dreaming big, of doing something not because you should, but because you can. A five-year-old thinks he can do anything. A twenty-five-year old is afraid.

"Edward's list was as follows: Number one, be a good friend. I don't know how anyone could argue with this; a good friend carries you through life when you're too weak to walk on your own two feet.

"Number two, a good job. I don't know what he meant by 'good,' but I'm guessing it meant doing something that makes you happy. Do what you love, always.

"Number three, drive fast. If you're a terrible driver like me, this one probably isn't for you."

I looked up to see Esme, her face bright with pride, her smile soft and encouraging. Carlisle didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve like Esme did, but I liked to think my words meant something to him.

"Number four, go to college," I continued. "Number four is why I'm standing here today. Number four is why a member of next year's class will attend college thanks to the generosity of those who believed in Edward's memory, and in what he valued."

"Number five, be a spy. Number six, be a rockstar. Chase your dreams. If you want to be a rock star who also takes on covert missions in North Korea, I'm sure Edward would have backed you one-hundred percent."

I smiled at that, picturing Edward sitting out there in the crowd, his eyes dancing with so many memories. I wished he were here to laugh at my lame jokes; I wished he could tell each and every person in this audience that yes, he backed you one-hundred percent.

"Number seven, no fear. When you're five-years-old, the only thing you're afraid of is a time-out or a rainy day. Somewhere along the way, fear creeps in and holds us back. I think fear is the reason we turn our backs on the idealistic, and settle for the realistic.

"Number eight, save a life. Edward saved the lives of four different people, who are all here today. For that I am very grateful, and very proud. I only wish Edward could have met them; I think they, too, wish that more than anything."

I looked up from my paper and managed a nervous smile for the sea of young graduates. I remembered sitting in their seats; I remembered, and somewhere, somehow, I knew Edward did, too.

"Number nine, fly. I flew here from Washington, so I think that counts."

More laughter, and by now, it was more a conversation than a speech. By now, Edward would have been saying to me, "See, that wasn't torture, was it?"

I paused for a second, my eyes lingering on the final lines at the bottom of the page. I could feel my resolve shaking, my throat tightening, but I thought of Edward's face and smile and jokes and all the good things, the happy things, the things he would have wanted to remember on a day like today, when one phase of your life ended and another began. And so I cleared my throat, and projected the strongest, steadiest voice I could manage.

"And now I'll leave you with Number Ten: forgive others. In the spirit of last year's speaker and a man Edward always admired, I leave you with one quote...

"The weak can never forgive," I said, my voice faltering on the last word. "Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."

I muttered a final thank you and stepped back, meeting Jasper's eyes for just a second before he took his position behind the podium. It took me a minute or two to calm down, to temper the adrenaline that had carried me through the last five minutes. It made me feel a little better to know that Jasper was nervous, too; I could see it in his strained smile, and in the way he had his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets. But when he finally managed those first few words, a natural, easy cadence replaced the tremor in his voice. He talked about Alice, about the scholarship in her name and everything it stood for. He honored her in words, in memories, in the raw emotion with which he spoke. It was a simple, yet beautiful elegy to the woman he loved.

After the ceremony, the crowd dispersed into an ocean of black gowns and discarded caps. I found Charlie and the Cullens, who greeted me with so many words of praise it made me blush straight to the bone. The Whitlocks soon followed, and then the Brandons and a host of other college friends and professors. I didn't deserve so many accolades for such an awkward, stilted speech, but I'd delivered it from the heart. And I hoped, in some small way, that was enough.

When the crowd dwindled to just a few friends and family members, I sat down on an empty bench and savored a few minutes of being alone. I could see Jasper talking to Alice's entire family, regaling them as usual with a very engaging story. Jasper was a quiet person by nature, but he always rose to the occasion.

"Hiding out, are we?" Rosalie asked, and it was like she materialized out of nowhere. I hadn't seen her in the crowd, and I thought for sure she'd gone back to the hotel after the ceremony. But here she was, her smile tinged with mischief, her red dress as radiant as the midday sun.

"Not too successfully," I teased. "Thanks for coming, Rosalie."

"Well, you know I wouldn't have missed this. It was beautiful, Bella. Truly."

I glanced down at my hands, at the tattered pages that spoke to Edward's legacy. I had thought about bringing the actual list and simply going off that, but I'd changed my mind at the last minute.

"Thank you," I said. "But really, Edward did most of the work."

"Maybe," she mused, and then she lifted her sunglasses over her eyebrows, and gave me a look that made my breath catch and my heart sputter to a stop.

"Bella," she said. "Why'd you do it?"

I swallowed hard, but the wobble in my voice and fire on my cheeks gave me away. "Why did I do what?"

"Why the hell did you change Number Ten?"

***

***

**hmm... :)**

**No update unless you guess the real #10.  
**

**Kidding.  
**


	13. Ten

**A/N: **The action in this chapter (not the flashback) takes place two years after Bella's scholarship speech.

I love my readers. You seriously have no idea. So many thoughtful, beautiful reviews. I don't know what else to say, other than thank you.

**Disclaimer**: The Twilight people are not my property.

---

FORGIVEN

Chapter 13

_For the record, I think this assignment is morbid, bizarre, and more than slightly creepy. I'm twenty-two, not eighty-two. But this is your class and your rules, so here it is: my last will and testament. If for some reason someone finds this thing down the road, every single detail of this document still stands. _

_I don't know where to start—the little things? The major things? I don't have a whole lot of "possessions," aside from my beloved piece-of-shit Volvo and every hour of sweat and tears that went into its rebirth. But even my car is sitting at home, idling in the driveway where my dad is no doubt dreaming of ways to sink it in the Pacific. I'm on to you, Dad. _

_So I don't know, really. I don't have things. I have people. I have my parents, who gave me every opportunity known to man. They should have given up on me a hundred-thousand times, but my father doesn't believe in weakness. He gave me the skills to be here, and so here I am. I'm too damn proud to say it to his face, but Jesus Christ, Dad. I owe you everything._

_And my mom, well, I've never met someone more generous, more sincere, more incredible. I know Jasper would tease me until the end of kingdom come if he read this, but it's true. It's been true since Day One. I'm the luckiest asshole on the planet to have a mother like Esme Cullen._

_Speaking of Jasper, I've known that punk since kindergarten, which to me is an eternity. He's not just a friend, though. Not even close. And don't ask me if I'm an only child and sigh when I say yes because fuck you, I know what it's like to have a brother. I found mine in kindergarten, but that's the only difference. Don't tell me that blood is thicker than water. Don't tell me because you just don't get it._

_I have other people in my life, too. People who believed in me, encouraged me, kicked my ass when I needed it. I have friends and acquaintances and mentors and perfect strangers who I remember because they, in some totally obscure or monumental way, had an impact on my life. And if I could give each and every one of you the world, I would. I absolutely would._

_So that leaves only one person. Without her, I'm nothing. With her, I'm everything. I don't have to write this thing and think about heaven because I've already been there. I'm there now and have been since I kissed Bella Swan on the first day of kindergarten._

_If something happens to me, everything belongs to her. _

_If something happens to me, give this morbid note to Jasper and tell him that my only wish is that she never be alone._

_Tell Jasper that, and he'll understand._

_Signed,_

_Edward Cullen_

_Boulder, CO_

_9/14/2007  
_

---

_Two Years Later_

JPOV

It was a cold, soggy day, the kind of cold that foreshadows a long and torturous fall. The apartment was even worse, with a steady trickle of water from the ceilings and a musty odor that never went away. I put down my backpack and turned on the light, which took a few seconds to flicker to life.

I glanced at my watch: just after midnight. My twenty-sixth birthday was over.

I put my head down on the kitchen table and drifted to sleep.

***

I awoke sometime later to the sound of screeching tires just outside. That finicky light bulb had burned out again, and the apartment was dark. With heavy, plodding steps, I rose from my chair and walked down the hall to investigate. The jiggling lock wrenched me from my sleep-induced haze, and I leaned up against the wall, angling for a better view.

"What the..." I muttered, as I fumbled in the darkness for the nearest large object. But I promptly dropped it when the door lurched open, and a soaking wet figure stumbled into the hallway.

The figure looked up, her long hair matted over her forehead, her eyes shimmering in the slants of city light. I didn't waste another second as I ran to her, hugged her, breathed her in and kissed every inch of her wet, beautiful face. She dropped her bags, her purse, her broken umbrella, and wrapped her arms around my neck. It was a deep, frantic kiss; it spoke of longing, and need, and desperation. She hitched her legs around my hips and I carried her to the bedroom, my fingers slipping on the wetness of her skin.

The rain had soaked her to the bone, so I stripped away her jacket, her blouse, her skirt, until only the bare essentials remained. She arched her back, her neck, whimpering my name as I warmed her skin with an assault of kisses and hands and sheer adoration. I ran my fingers through her wet, glorious hair, and continued my descent down the expanse of her skin.

At some point I lost my own clothes and the rest of hers, and just like the first time—like every time—the sight of this beautiful woman before me took my breath away. I coaxed her to her side, then her stomach, and traced the curve of her spine with eager hands. I kissed her between her shoulder blades, and she shivered like she always did.

"I love you," she breathed, and I smiled at the sincerity in her voice and the timing of her words. I knew she loved me, regardless of the day or time or sexual position. But it thrilled me nonetheless, to see her on the brink of such pleasure, to watch her come undone.

She was tense now, her back arched, her body aching for physical and emotional release. I lay on top of her, her name falling from my lips as I buried myself inside of her. I took her like this when I needed her most, when I missed her, when I craved the connection so completely that I could feel every inch of her skin burning against mine.

A wordless shudder coursed through her as she came, and I soon followed, my hands finding hers as I found my release. I lay lightly over her slick, bare back for a few seconds as I always did, indulging in the slow rise of her breathing. She turned her head and kissed me, whispering against my lips, "I love it when you fuck me that way."

I pushed her hair aside, smiling at the little smirk on her face. I lay beside her, our faces just inches apart, while my fingers wove their way through her thick, wet hair.

"I thought you just loved _me_," I joked.

"Well, that's a given," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I love you, too, you know."

She smiled, her eyes smoldering in the pitch black of the room. "I think you wanted to kill me earlier," she said.

"Yeah, well, you surprised me!"

"Psh, you were probably passed out at the kitchen table!"

I shrugged. "Actually, I was doing something important."

"Aside from dreaming about me?" she teased.

I hesitated, considering the truth in that statement. Most days it was true. But not last night; last night I had tossed and turned for eight straight hours. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was."

"Like what?"

I shrugged my shoulders again, feigning disinterest. "Well, I didn't think you'd be back until tonight…"

"So you weren't ready for me? Did I ruin some kind of surprise?" Her face fell a little bit, and I lifted her chin with my thumb.

"No, you didn't ruin it."

"What is it?"

"We can do it tomorrow—"

"Jasper!" she shrieked, whacking me on the chest. I faked a grand display of pain and rolled out of bed.

"Where are you going?" she asked, a little knot of worry creasing her brow. I liked teasing her this way. She was the world's easiest target.

"You hurt my feelings," I said, and for a second, I worried she believed me. But then a little smile rose on her lips, and I took the opportunity to slip out the door and into the hall.

"Jasper!" she cried, reaching out for a sheet. She pulled on it for a second or two, then just gave up. With a disgruntled huff she stumbled into the hallway, wagging her finger at me as I gave her the cold shoulder.

"I'm going out," I said, as I continued down the hall.

"What?! You're naked!"

"I can still go out."

"It's raining!"

I looked over my shoulder, offering her one last shrug. She stood there with her hands on her hips, and it took everything I had not to turn around again because she was fucking beautiful, fucking perfect, and fucking _naked._

"I think this is a bad idea," she said, worry creeping into her voice. But I managed to ignore her and instead stepped out into the chilly, deserted night. I'd give her five seconds to follow me, and then I'd have to give up because my testicles could only last so long.

Sure enough, she blustered out into the night four seconds later. The two of us stood on our front porch in downtown Seattle, both completely bare, both warmed by nothing but the post-coital glow of phenomenal sex.

And then everything changed: the tone of my voice, the lightness of the mood, the smile on my face. It took her a few seconds to register the change in my expression, the sudden nervousness, the realization that this was one of those moments that happened to most people just once in your life.

I dropped to one knee and removed my hands from behind my back. One hand held Edward's list—dried out, muddy, and barely recognizable—and the other held something far more beautiful, but just as important. I glanced at the list in one hand, and the ring in the other, her eyes following my every move. But it had already dawned on her, maybe months ago, maybe years, that I had always intended to carry out each and every item on Edward's list, even if it took me a lifetime to do so.

"Jasper," she whispered as I took her hand, and held it in my own.

"You asked me to let go," I said. "And I didn't."

I slipped the ring on her finger, the subtle glow of a diamond reflecting in her eyes.

"I asked for your forgiveness," I continued. "And you gave it."

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, and the smile on her face was soft, shy, familiar; her smile reminded me of a childhood I would never forget, of a future I had promised to earn.

"I would have waited forever to give you number ten," I said. "But I'm asking you now, because I can't wait anymore."

I stood up slowly, reading a thousand different emotions in her glistening brown eyes. She loved him, she lost him, she remembered him. I felt the same, the exact same, about someone else—someone who had changed my life when I was nineteen, and reckless, and completely undeserving. Fate didn't change that. Even death couldn't change that.

But it was life that surprised you.

Every single time.

"Marry me, Bella."

She held the list in her hands, read the handwriting, felt the meaning in a five-year-old's words.

Number Ten.

Marry Bella.

"Yes," she said, her voice thick with tears, and happiness, and letting go. I hugged her like that first day, like so many days, thinking about all I had lost and all I had gained.

I thought of Edward, and hoped he understood. Hoped he would somehow know that I would remember him for as long as I lived. Hoped he knew how much I loved her.

I thought of that day, standing on the porch, when that door swung open.

I thought about then, and I thought about now.

This was our beginning.

THE END

***

***

***

**A/N**: Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. Me and those twist endings, eh? Yeesh, I can't help myself.

I did have all ten things planned before I wrote anything, in case you're wondering. Actually, Number Ten was the first one I came up with. God I'm such a romantic. Apparently a lot of my readers know this about me - many of you guessed the theme (or the exact wording) of #10. I hope I did it justice.

Thank you again to **Sweet Dulcinea** for making this story happen. Without her, it would not have been written.

Also special thanks to **ElleCC **and** LaViePastiche**, who faithfully promoted this story on Twitter. Even though I'm Twitter-shy, I noticed and always appreciated it. So thank you.

And to everyone who read, reviewed, tweeted, or otherwise supported this story, I'm very grateful.

Please review. I'd love it if you did. :)

~socact


	14. Outtake

**A/N: **Hi everyone, I'm back with an outtake for Forgiven, as requested by **ElleCC**. She was generous enough to bid on an outtake in the original FGB auction, and here it is, finally!

As for the outtake, it takes place a few months after Bella's speech, and quite a while before the final chapter in Seattle. This is NOT an epilogue. Rated M for the usual.

Thank you as always for reading!

**Disclaimer:** Twilight is not mine.

#

#

**FORGIVEN**

**Outtake**

**BPOV**

"Bella, this is lame," Emmett frowned, lifting an eyebrow at the pink slosh in my cup. "Who made this for you?"

"Um…Jasper?"

"He's too easy on you."

I smiled—not an easy feat under Emmett's withering gaze. "He knows me."

"He's pussy-whipped is what he is," Emmett grumbled, but there was a smirk in his voice. He left his empty beer on the table and headed for the back porch, where everyone was congregating despite the rain.

I leaned back in my chair, relishing a few seconds of quiet. It wasn't that crowds bothered me so much anymore; I just preferred it, sometimes, to indulge in a little bit of solitude. Or maybe I was just kidding myself. Maybe this was an escape, a means to avoid the inevitable.

Jasper had spared only a few details about his birthday party last year, maybe because he didn't remember, or maybe because it didn't matter. We both remembered the afternoon that followed, and all that it signified. And yet here I was, feeling once again like the very fragile foundation of my existence was slipping out from under me.

"Bella?"

I whirled around, surprised and then relieved to see Rosalie's familiar face. Pregnancy suited her, as we all guessed it would. She had taken maternity wear to a whole new level.

"Oh, hey," I said, managing a smile. "What's up?"

She paused a second, clearly questioning the fake expression on my face. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, but my eyes dropped to my cup and it was clear I was lying—to myself, to her, to anyone who attempted to cheer me up. She sat down beside me, removing the cup from my hands as I continued to stare at the floor.

"He'll stay, you know," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, as close to an embrace as words could be.

"He has to go," I said, shaking my head. "Just because I'm not ready to face the real world doesn't mean he has to give it up, too."

"He doesn't want to go without you—"

"Yeah, well, people don't stay together forever, as we all know," I snapped, regretting the words as soon as they left my throat. Rosalie said nothing, her arm wrapping around my shoulders as my eyes burned and my chest tightened and my whole stupid, meaningless existence continued to unravel.

"He isn't leaving you," she said. "That isn't what this is about."

"I know," I sighed, choking on useless tears. "I know that, and that's why I told him to go."

"Seattle isn't even that far, Bella. He can drive back every weekend—"

"No, no driving…" I mumbled.

"Bella."

I looked up, acknowledging the comfort in her eyes as well as the gentle rebuke in her voice. I knew I deserved it. I couldn't feel sorry for myself forever.

"I want him to go, but I don't want him to go," I said. "Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does. It makes perfect sense."

"What if he forgets about me?"

"Uh…" she said, narrowing her eyes as if to say, yeah, that was a ridiculously inane comment that did not warrant an answer.

"Okay, fine, he won't forget about me," I said, and I couldn't help but smile at the look on her face. "But he'll be busy working, living in a big city, meeting new people, and I'll be here…"

"Here with Rosalie and Emmett, that lame-ass couple—"

"Shut up," I smiled, rolling my eyes. "I just feel like things will be…unbalanced."

"Then go with him."

It sounded so simple, that idea, that concept, those four simple words that had the power to solve everything. Jasper had asked me to come, had begged me, had tried to push me without breaking me down. He understood my limits better than anyone, and for some reason that only the depths of my being could explain, I wasn't ready.

"I can't," I whispered. "I just can't."

#

#

It was after two by the time the party broke up, leaving just the four of us on the back porch, surrounded by empty cups and distant voices and a lush, humid night. I could taste the end of summer, could hear it in the echo of the trees. No one ever thought of fall as the beginning of something. It was the end. Always the end. And on this night more than any other, I hated to see the summer go.

"Another epic party, as usual," Jasper said, breaking my silent reverie. Emmett just nodded, savoring the calm that followed the chaos. His attitude toward life was different than most; I could see that now, could even feel it in his presence. Maybe to him, every day was something extra. And if you lived like that, how could you ever be afraid of anything?

"What time are you heading out tomorrow?" Rosalie asked, her eyes drifting from Jasper to me. I breathed deeply, hoping for the hundredth time that night that Jasper hadn't noticed how upset I really was.

"Around lunch time," he said, glancing over at me. I dropped my gaze to my hands, taking comfort in the frayed sleeves of my sweatshirt and the opportunity for fidgeting it provided.

"You driving up?" Emmett asked.

Jasper took a short, shallow breath, but I didn't dare move or look up. We had talked about this countless times. And of course I'd never given him an answer, had never agreed to the one favor he'd ever asked of me.

"Maybe," he said, giving me an out I didn't deserve. "Not sure yet."

"Well how the hell are you going to get all your shit to Seattle?" Emmett asked, ignoring all the subtle clues of a touchy subject.

"Um—" Jasper stuttered.

"I'm going to drive him," I said, looking up to meet the cool, crystal blue of Jasper's eyes. I could see the surprise there, the skepticism, and finally, the faint glimmer of excitement.

"Oh," Emmett said, missing the silent exchange. But Rosalie caught it; a little smile had fallen on her lips, and for the first time all night, I felt almost hopeful.

"Well, then," Rosalie said, as she rose to her feet with a grace that I'd never possess, pregnant or not. "You two should get going with such a big drive ahead of you."

"Big drive?" Emmett thundered. "It's only three hours—"

"Maybe they need to _prepare_…" Rosalie countered, as my face flushed.

"Oh," Emmett smirked. "Well in that case, I'll finish this keg myself."

Jasper stood up and I followed, anxious to spare ourselves any more innuendos. Rosalie knew the details of our sexual relationship—or lack thereof, but Emmett liked to assume things. I knew he and Jasper were close, but I had no clue what guys talked about when it came to…that. A few key points? Minute details? Vivid anecdotes? I had no idea and honestly didn't want to know.

"Ready, Bella?" Jasper asked, his tone laced with the hint of nerves. I nodded and followed his lead, hugging our friends before walking down the steps and across the yard.

"Did you have a good birthday?" I asked, once we were out of earshot of the house.

"Of course," he said. "You were there this year."

I smiled at that, my whole body warming at the compliment. But then, it wasn't really a compliment. It was just a statement, a fact, a simple expression of feeling that meant everything to me because if Jasper said it, then he meant every word.

"I hardly got to talk to you, though," I said, glancing down once again at my feet. They sank in the mud, filling the night with the squish-squish of my footsteps.

"Yeah," he said. "What was up with that?"

"Well, you had to entertain your guests," I said, which was sort of a joke, and sort of true. I didn't want to mention the actual reason, which was that I'd been moping around in a corner for most of the night.

"Ah," he said, playing along. "Yeah, I guess that's the reason."

"Plus I wasn't the best of party-goers."

He stopped walking, and for a few seconds, the silence just festered there between us, begging the question of what we were and how things were changing and when we were actually going to talk about it. We had talked about it, of course. Many times. But only for a few tortured, angst-ridden minutes, until one of us changed the subject and settled for a few more days of false complacency.

"Bella, you know I'd stay—"

"And you know you have to go. This is what you've worked so hard for, Jasper. It's a great job in an amazing city doing something you love. You have no reason to stay."

"That isn't true," he said, his gaze burning into mine, his words clear and soft and defiant. He took a step forward and traced his fingers along my arm, from my elbow to my wrist to the bend of my fingers, which he held in his own. I tried to take a breath, but it caught and stalled and for a few seconds I wasn't breathing at all, because I needed him and wanted him and already missed him.

"I don't want you to go, Jasper," I finally managed to say, after what felt like hours.

"Why didn't you ever say it, Bella?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost broken. "Since the graduation, I just feel like you've been pushing me away, like there's this distance…"

"I know," I whispered. "I created it because I couldn't stand to see you go."

"Come with me."

"I can't."

"Please."

"Jasper, I can't…I want to but I can't."

I turned away from him, stumbling on the mud as I made my way up to the road. He quickly caught up to me, his strides long and lean, so unlike my clumsy gait. When he took my hand again, I didn't protest. I just gave in to him, to us, to friends and maybe more, if only I knew how to let him in.

We walked the few blocks in a silence that wasn't quite easy, and it wasn't quite tense. I could see that the lights were off as my house came into view, which was a major step for Charlie. He trusted Jasper—trusted him more than anyone, which I think meant more to Jasper than he'd ever admit.

"I meant what I said about tomorrow," I said, as we made our way up my gravel driveway. "I want to drive you."

"Bella, it's a long drive, and moving sucks—"

"Are you turning me down?"

He smiled, but there was a sadness behind it, because he had asked me this question so many times before, and so many times had I turned him down.

"No," he said. "I would love it if you came."

"Well, I'll do better than _come_," I teased. "I'll be your chauffeur."

"Okay," he laughed. "Deal."

I looked down at our hands, our fingers intertwined, the heat from his palm seeping into mine. I looked up again because I didn't want to lose him, I didn't want to think about anything but all that the last year had brought us.

"I'll come by at ten," I said. "I'll bring breakfast."

He nodded once, his gaze falling to his mud-streaked shoes as his hand fell from mine. I noticed it immediately, the absence of comfort and warmth and intimacy. I wanted to kiss him then, to invite him in, to show him that the last thing I wanted was distance.

But instead I did nothing. Just watched him go, his hands in his pockets and his head down. These days, I tried not to cry. It was a sign of weakness, a meaningless waste of energy.

That night, I didn't care.

#

#

"Ooh, muffins," Jane squealed, her eyes lighting up like firecrackers. She swiped them from my hands, leaving me there at the front door while Jasper clamored down the stairs to rescue me.

"Jesus, Jane," he muttered, glaring at her as she inhaled one of the six blueberry muffins I'd brought for breakfast.

"It's okay," I said, dismissing her with a wave. "That's why I made six."

"Yeah, but they're too good to waste on her," he said, smirking at me as I stepped inside. Jasper and his sister had a kind of tempestuous relationship, to say the least. And I had to admit I wasn't a huge fan of Jane's. The day she found out I was dating Edward, well, shit hit the fan.

"You ready to go?" he asked. "I finished packing up early."

"Oh, um…sure. Are your parents here? I should say hello."

"Nah, they left last night, some conference in New York. I'll tell them you said hi."

"Okay," I said. While I respected Jasper's parents, I sometimes wondered what the hell they were thinking. If I ever left home, I knew Charlie would be there to say good-bye to me a hundred times over, and for that I was grateful.

Jasper went to retrieve the muffins, while I went out to the garage and tried to reacquaint myself with his car. He could drive, of course. But he didn't drive on highways anymore, and it would take us all day to get to Seattle if we took back roads. So in a way, I really was doing him a favor.

I climbed inside, adjusting the seat so my feet could actually reach the pedals. Every inch of the back seat and trunk was loaded with stuff, but he'd kept the rearview clear so I could see.

Just as I was about to turn on the ignition and fiddle with the radio, the passenger door open and Jasper's huge dog—named Gimp, because he had a bad leg—threw himself over the console and into my lap.

"Gimp!" Jasper yelled, while the dog continued to slather my face with kisses. "Get the fuck out of there!"

"It's okay," I laughed, as Gimp settled in for the long drive.

"Gimp, you can't come," Jasper scolded, and the dog reluctantly crawled out of the car while Jasper climbed in.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I mean, if you were leaving me with Jane, I'd probably feel the same…"

He smiled, shaking his head as Gimp howled on the steps.

"Ah, fuck it," he said, opening the door wide. And with Gimp resting happily in Jasper's lap, we drove out of Forks and into the unknown.

#

#

I had only been to Seattle a handful of times in my twenty-four years, and it didn't look at all familiar when we got there. Jasper was renting a room in a three-bedroom place, and I realized as soon as I met his roommates that I didn't like the idea. Tanya was tall, blonde, and ridiculously gorgeous, and Laurent was quite possibly the best-dressed, most cosmopolitan young professional I'd ever met. These perfect beings did not jive with my idea of a typical craigslister.

Even so, I did my best not to show my discontent. It was cheaper to live with roommates, and more practical, and whatever, whatever, whatever. I just wished they were ugly and boring.

"Your roommates seem nice," I mumbled, which made Jasper smile. He knew me too well.

"Yeah," he said. "Although Tanya seems a little…"

"Vain?"

He laughed, which must have made my face turn even redder than usual. "I was going to say talkative, but I guess vain works."

"Ugh," I groaned. "Well, at least she has a boyfriend."

"What do you mean?"

I froze, realizing too late what I'd implied. I really had made a mess of things, not to mention the fact that I was woefully transparent.

"Nothing," I mumbled, and even though he could have pushed it, could have gotten me to admit the fact that I hated the thought of him living with someone so attractive, he didn't.

"Do you want to get dinner?" he asked, while the blush on my cheeks faded and my racing heart slowed. "We could scope out the city a bit."

"I'd love that, I just…I don't want to take the bus back too late."

"Oh," he said. "Well, I mean, you don't have work tomorrow, right? I was thinking you could just stay, you know, for the night…so you don't have to go home in the dark."

I swallowed hard, searching for some kind of response and finding none. There were, of course, no romantic undertones to his request; it had been months since we'd gone there. But the fact that there weren't made me realize how badly I'd ruined things.

"I don't want to impose…" I said.

"Bella, this is my apartment, too. My roommates will understand."

"Jasper…"

"Stay."

I sighed, finding my answer in his warm blue eyes.

"Okay."

#

#

Tanya and Laurent, as it turned out, were both headed out for the night. I didn't understand people who went out seven nights a week, but apparently they existed. And I was grateful, because my time with Jasper was limited, and I didn't want to share it with anyone else.

"So, Bella," Jasper said, as we finished off the last of the muffins. "When does kindergarten start up again?"

I shrugged. "A couple of weeks, I think."

"You're not excited about it?"

"I am," I said, but my mind was elsewhere. I could only think of him here, working, doing something I might have done if I weren't so stunted in so many ways.

"But…?"

"Well, I mean, I don't think I want to do it forever."

"What about grad school?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, although I thought about it often enough. It always brought mixed feelings, because it reminded me of a different future, one that I had planned and imagined with someone else. It didn't seem fair that I should pursue something Edward had also wanted, no matter how illogical it sounded.

"Can you get your spot back?" he asked.

I nodded, recalling my last conversation with the dean. I could always defer, year after year after year, but eventually, as we both knew, I'd just give it up for good.

"Well, good," he said. "I rather liked the idea of calling you Dr. Swan."

"Only in academic circles," I said, smiling at the smirk on his lips. "That's the rule, for Ph.D.'s."

"Well screw the rules, a doctorate's a doctorate. I'd just call you Dr. Swan all the time, even when it's just the two of us, playing checkers or something."

"Checkers?"

He laughed, swiping the remnants of a muffin from my hands. "You're too slow," he explained. "Can't just savor these things, you know."

"You don't savor my cooking?" I asked, feigning hurt. I took a step closer, reaching for the food he had swiped.

"Hey, now," he said, holding it away from me while I grasped wildly for it. He had a solid six inches on me, which made it impossible for me to get very far in the quest for muffin victory.

"You're mean," I huffed, stamping my feet as I walked down the hall. I let myself into the last door, his room, which brought back memories of the last time I'd been in his bedroom. It felt so long ago now; it felt, more than anything, like we had wasted these last few months.

I could hear Jasper's footsteps as he followed me down the hall, but it was Gimp who rushed in first. He almost mowed me over, and I couldn't help but laugh as he tried to lick my face. I pushed him gently away, smelling something freaky on his breath. And I didn't want to smell…freaky.

"Gimp!" Jasper yelled, and the dog reluctantly obeyed, jumping off me and onto the floor. "Are you okay, Bella? I don't know what the hell's wrong with him sometimes—"

"I'm fine," I said, still laughing. Jasper joined me on the bed, his lovely, mussed blonde hair falling over his eyes.

"It's late," he said. "I know I wore you out today."

"You didn't wear me out."

His eyebrow went up, a little smile tugging at his lips. "This coming from the girl that goes to bed at 9 pm?"

"I'm not tired," I protested, although my eyelids were drooping. And since I was lying on a bed, I didn't want to just suddenly pass out.

"Yes you are," he said, his voice soft, almost liquid, and if he wanted to keep me awake, this wasn't the best way to do it.

"I don't want to sleep…I don't want to waste all that time…"

"Time sleeping is time well-spent, Bella."

"You know what I mean," I said, and I knew he did. I knew because his eyes were dark, and haunted, and unbearably sad, and my heart broke all over again.

"I'll take the bus home every weekend," he murmured, his fingers finding their way to my hair as my eyes closed, and his voice filled the silence. "And when I'm here, I'll think of you and miss you and count the hours until I can see you again."

"I'll be ready someday, Jasper…I'll move here…I promise you…"

"I'll wait, Bella. You know I will."

I opened my eyes to see his face as he lay beside me, his eyes soft and trusting, his frame so young and strong. I could picture him even now, standing by the phone in his house, waiting for me to answer once, just once, just so he could hear my voice. I remembered sitting at the kitchen table every day at noon, listening to the phone ring, begging my father to answer it even when he had a hundred other things to do. So many times I almost picked up, so many times I almost ran to his house in a pouring rain to tell him how badly I needed him back in my life. But I wasn't ready then. I wasn't ready and Jasper understood, like only the truest, closest friend ever could, that I needed more time.

"Why, Jasper?" I asked. "Why have you been so patient with me?"

He took a deep breath, his knuckles tracing the blush on my cheeks that rose with his touch.

"I love you, Bella," he whispered. "I think I've loved you for a very long time."

"Jasper—"

"I know what you had with Edward was special," he said, shushing me with his fingertips. "And in some ways, maybe I'm intimidated by that…like I'm not sure I can ever live up to him, or be to you what he always was—"

"You think I don't feel the same?" I asked, grasping his hand and pulling it towards me. "You and Alice, I always admired you, always saw how perfect you were for each other…but we're different people, Jasper. We're different individuals, and we're different together."

"Which means…"

"Which means, yes, I loved Edward, but I love you, too."

"As a friend."

"For years, yes. But it's different now."

"Different how?"

I let go of his hand, my fingers finding the curve of his jaw as I kissed him softly, sweetly, and it felt as natural and right as it always had, as if our bodies simply remembered what to do. Within seconds he was hovering over me, our kisses no longer soft but desperate and deep, his lips parting as I tasted the heat of his mouth, tinged with blueberries.

I had only ever been with one man, but it didn't scare me to be with someone else, it didn't feel wrong or unjust or unwarranted. My body craved it, my skin tingling with his touch, my breasts responding to the slow pass of his fingers. And I could feel, with a very welcome heat between my legs, how ready for him I was.

We said nothing for a while, my quiet gasps filling the room as he lifted my shirt above my head. His shirt quickly followed, and soon there were shirts and shoes and pants hanging on boxes, discarded and forgotten. But he hesitated as I grasped the buckle of his belt, his eyes meeting mine for just a second, just long enough for his expression to tell me everything.

"I want you, Jasper," I whispered, pulling him down to me. I kissed his mouth, his jaw, my lips grazing his ear so he could hear my voice. "Don't make me wait any longer."

"Come to Seattle," he breathed, his mouth hot and wet on my shoulder, his fingers unclasping my bra as he made his way down.

"Soon," I gasped, his hands like fire on my skin as I tried to form coherent words.

"How soon?"

"Christmas," I breathed. "I promise you."

"I'll wait forever," he said, a trace of a smile touching his lips as I yanked at the belt and let it fall to the floor.

"Forever?" I asked, as my fingers worked the buttons on his jeans until I had enough room to reach inside and take him in my hand. He was clearly just as ready as I was, and a fluttering of nerves and desire rose in my chest.

"Fuck," he growled, never protesting as I removed his pants and boxers in one fell swoop. I continued to stroke him, remembering all at once the power I had to tease the opposite sex.

"Forever?" I asked again.

"Are we still talking about the same thing here?" he rasped, smirking as he swatted me away, reaching for the only article of clothing I had left.

He teased me for a while, grazing my clit with the lightest of touches. And then he pressed harder, and went faster, and then his fingers were inside me and I wasn't thinking or breathing or asking questions, I was just coming for the first time in over a year. And it must've taken me a solid five minutes to recover from it, because I was still catching my breath when I took him in my hand again, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat.

I ran my fingers up and down his length, pausing at the tip, somehow remembering after all this time what guys liked and wanted and couldn't get enough of. But I liked it, too, this absolute control over his own pleasure, the knowledge of what I could do to him and he to me.

"I'm going to come in your hand, Bella, if you don't stop that right now," he groaned, and I could feel him now, so hard against me, teasing the one place I wanted him most.

"I want you…" I gasped, leaning into him as he sat up, his hands coursing down my sides. "…to come…"

He grasped my hips, pulling me toward him as he pushed into me, slowly, carefully, knowing that I hadn't done this in a very long time, and never wanting to hurt me. But I was well beyond the point of pain, or discomfort, or patience. I wanted him hard and fast and deep, and so he answered, burying himself inside of me in one smooth stroke. I arched back and still he pulled me closer, falling into a rhythm that left me gasping his name. His fingers brought me to the edge, holding me there, until I could taste his words on my lips.

"Come where?" he asked, and although I was delirious with impending relief, I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Inside me…" I said. "Jasper… yes…please…"

He found his release just seconds after I did, breathing my name as he came right where I'd asked him to. Within seconds Gimp was on top of us, panting in our faces, and Jasper was yelling and I was laughing and Gimp was banished to the foot of the bed.

"Gimp likes to cuddle," I remarked, which was enough to make Jasper smile. He lay beside me, his arm resting on my abdomen, his fingers twisting the damp curls of my hair.

"Do you?" he asked, and I could tell he was serious, could tell he really wanted to know.

"I like being close to you," I said.

"How about spooning?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but I could see now he was teasing. His lips had curled up in a mischievous smirk, and then he was grinning as a furious blush colored my skin.

"Well, for the record, I _love_ spooning," I said, trying my best to sound serious.

"All right then," he said. "I shall take that into consideration."

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder as Gimp watched Jasper with a jealous glint in his eye. Yes, Gimp definitely liked to cuddle. I wondered if this would be a problem in the future.

I sincerely hoped so.

"Jasper?"

"Yeah?" he asked, brushing the hair from my face so he could kiss my forehead. I tried not to think about tomorrow. I tried not to think about anything but right now, which happened because we were ready, because the world sometimes surprised you, because sometimes people came into your life for just a few years, and sometimes they stayed forever.

"I'd wait for you, too," I said. "If you needed me to."

"You don't have to," he said, his voice quiet now, coaxing me to sleep. "You already have me."

#

#

#

**To those of you who endured twelve chapters of angst and made it all the way to this outtake, I hope you found the journey worthwhile.**

**Thank you as always for reading.  
**

**~socact****  
**


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